


Piece By Piece

by AnimationNut



Series: Platonic Soulmate AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Found Family, Gen, My self-indulgent mush really, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Team as Family, mentions of bullying and past abuse but only a little, mildly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimationNut/pseuds/AnimationNut
Summary: Grif spent most of his life with only one soulmark. In a world where one soulmark is shameful, he faced years of bullying. He eventually gave up any lingering hope of finding the rest of his soulmates. He had his sister. That was more than enough. After all, what were the odds he would find his soulmates in the army?





	1. Kaikaiana

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs Blue.
> 
> I was really inspired by Magic in the Marks by Mayhem21 and In Screaming Color by bizzarrebird. So this fic is the result.

Grif spent a lot of time at school through his youth. But the only information he retained from those years trapped at a desk was about soulmates and soulmarks. Every teacher he ever had never failed to tell him how important soulmarks were and how special it would be when he finally met his soulmates. He recalled distinctly that the singular form of the word, soulmate, was rarely ever mentioned.

There were two types of soulmates—platonic and romantic. Romantic soulmarks were names written in their handwriting. Platonic soulmarks were coloured handprints. It was considered shameful and pitiful to have only one coloured handprint or cursive name marking your body. That was also something seared into Grif’s memory.

Grif supposed he should have known something was off when he received his very first soulmark. It was a tiny yellow handprint, bright on the back of his left hand. It appeared when he was only a toddler, still not able to comprehend the meaning of soulmarks and what they represented. Soulmarks were meant to show up when he was twelve. Gaining a soulmark before or after was practically unheard of.

It was said you never forgot those moments when you met your soulmate. Though he was only a toddler, Grif remembered everything with a crystal clarity.

He was sitting on the couch in the cramped apartment he, his mother and his new baby sister shared. Their father was gone, as he often was, and it was difficult to tell when he would return home. Grif didn’t mind it when he was gone. There wasn’t as much shouting and his mother didn’t cry as much.

The open windows let in the Hawaiian ocean breeze from the beach across the way. He bounced on the cushions in excitement, pudgy arms reaching out eagerly when his mother entered the room. His mother’s plump face was exhausted, a scowl on her lips. She hardly ever smiled. In her arms was Kaikaiana.

She was wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, big brown eyes peeking about. Grif held her securely the instant she was set in his lap. His mother glanced at the watch strapped around her wrist, brow furrowing in agitation.

“Damn that useless babysitter! Dexter, watch your sister until she gets here. I can’t be late again.”

She swept out of the apartment without another word and Grif flinched as the door slammed shut behind her. Startled by the loud noise, Kaikaiana began to cry, wriggling her tiny body in distress. Grif cradled her close. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

He rested his hand gently on her chest and she rested her hand on top of his. There was a sudden tingling sensation and Grif jolted, eyes growing wide as strange emotions started to flow through him. Fear, confusion, and pure innocence and love thrummed through his own small body. She smelled sweetly of oranges, even though there was not a single one in the house.

There was an odd clicking sound and when his sister lifted her hand, there was a yellow mark left behind. Confused and a little bit scared, he looked at Kai, at the orange print that practically covered most of her tiny chest. Kai peeked up at him, her cries now soft coos.

His babysitter had been shocked when she finally arrived. Grif had peppered her with questions, trying to make sense of the weird sensations that had occurred somewhere deep within his chest. But the girl merely answered his questions with, “You’ll know when you’re older.”

When his mother returned home the next morning, she regarded them both with a tight-lipped expression before ignoring them for a couple of hours. It wasn’t until Grif started school did he realize why both his mother and his babysitter had stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. While it wasn’t unheard of to have your sibling as a soulmate, it was stated to be impossible to gain a soulmark before the age of twelve.

But Grif didn’t mind too much, not when he was in preschool and his classmates were gawking at the small yellow mark in awe and jealousy.

That was his first sign that something was not quite right. The second was when he hit the age of twelve and more coloured handprints spread across his body. He was standing in his bedroom, his shirt and pants hastily yanked off as various spots on his body tingled, like his teachers said would happen when his soulmarks appeared.  
He waited eagerly, wondering just how many he would have. He watched as they appeared one by one. A maroon handprint on his lower back. A red handprint curling under his chin. An aquamarine handprint on his right side. A pink handprint on his right hand. A dark blue handprint wrapping around his left bicep. A purple handprint on his right knee. A grey handprint smack in the middle of his stomach. A cyan handprint snaking around the side of his neck.

Grif could only stare, eyes wide and stunned. Nine soulmarks. He would have nine soulmarks in total. The idea made joy burst within him and he raced to show his sister. But the marks faded as quickly as they appeared, but Kaikaiana believed him. His mother, on the other hand, didn’t. She sent him to his room as punishment for making up stories. He didn’t eat that night.

As middle school and high school progressed, his peers would strut around proudly. They displayed the handprints and cursive writing on their bodies while Grif remained colourless, save for the yellow on his hand. Suddenly getting a soulmark as a toddler meant nothing. He was bullied relentlessly for having only one soulmate and no listened to him when he insisted he had nine. The days were hard, but he got through them. As much as he wanted to leave, Kai was in the same school and he needed to protect her.

Which, as Grif mused on later in his life, should have been his third warning sign. When Kai reached puberty, she too had nine soulmarks. Grif didn’t think too much of it, instead sharing in his sister’s joy as their mother cast them aside. He also didn’t put the dots together when Kai didn’t receive any soulmarks during her school years. They stuck together, taking the abuse with steel postures and sharp tongues.

As the years went on and their bodies remained blank, Grif grew sour and cynical. The world was playing a cruel joke and he didn’t appreciate it. He mostly forgot about his soulmarks by the time he was drafted into the military.

He didn’t need them, anyway. He had his sister, who was waiting for him at home. That’s all he would ever need.


	2. Simmons

Though Grif could hear the muffled sound of water splashing against concrete, his irritation prevented him from caring. He gripped the slot in the steel door and slid it open, making sure to clank it loudly to signify his arrival.

“Who’s there?” yelped Simmons.

“Guess,” snapped Grif, striding over to the sink and grabbing his toothbrush.

Simmons peeked past the flimsy plastic curtain with an affronted expression. “What the hell are you doing?! I’m in here!”

“I can see that. And you’re taking too long,” retorted Grif, putting a glob of light blue toothpaste on the bristles.

“Are you crazy? Get out!” hissed Simmons. His cheeks were flushed red and Grif doubted it was from the heat of the water.

“I will once I finish brushing my teeth! I’m freaking tired, I want to go to bed.”

“You had a six-hour nap today!”

“Yeah, which Sarge interrupted,” countered Grif, “so it doesn’t count.”

He began to brush his teeth, minty bubbles gathering at the corners of his mouth. Simmons gaped at him for a moment before scowling and jerking the curtain back into place with a curse. The water turned off and Simmons stepped out of the concrete stall, dripping wet and his boxer shorts plastered to his legs.

“Dude, I’ll be done in like a minute.”

“You shouldn’t be in here at all!” screeched Simmons. “Do you have any notion of privacy?”

“No. Not really.”

“Ugh! I just want five minutes of peace, damn it! I was here first! Get out!”

He went to shove Grif towards the door, his hand colliding with Grif’s lower back. The toothbrush clattered to the sink as a fierce warm surge charged through Grif’s body. His soul reacted immediately, buzzing as it started to join with Simmons’. Grif reached back involuntarily, his hand instinctively finding his soulmark on Simmons’ right shoulder. His mind reeled at the sudden onslaught of Simmons’ emotions. Agitation, frustration and exasperation at his intrusion mingled in his gut. Those emotions soon faded and were replaced with surprise, excitement and joy.

It took every fiber of strength in Grif’s body to jerk away, stumbling into the bathroom doorway with a gasp.

The disconnect from their souls was jarring and unpleasant. As Grif breathed heavily, trying to get a grasp on the situation, Simmons gripped the edge of the counter. His soul ached to finish establishing their connection. “Grif…”

The pleading tone and vulnerable expression in Simmons’ green eyes was too much for Grif to take. He turned on his heel and rushed out of the bathroom. He ignored Simmons’ shouts, tried to ignore the hurt injected in them even though it caused guilt to claw at his throat and made it hard to get any air to his lungs. He didn’t stop moving until he reached his room and he slammed the door shut behind him.

_No, no, this isn’t happening._

Grif pressed his hands against his face, trying to calm his pounding heart. His soul was in pain, burning from an unfinished soul connection. Grif knew it was beyond rude to leave during the midst of bonding. Almost every textbook and several lectures in school informed him that when a soul bond was in progress, you never disturbed the process. He never expected it to hurt so much. He knew Simmons was in a similar state as he. But he couldn’t deal with this right now.

He was supposed to be alone. All those years in school, harassed and beaten for having only one soulmark, made that clear. He’d made his peace with it. Accepted it. Figured that all those soulmarks that appeared on his body when he was twelve really was just a figment of his imagination.

He’d prepared himself to be alone. To just have his sister. Them against the world. He never expected to find a soulmate in the army. To feel Simmons’ positive emotions, to feel his happiness at being Grif’s soulmate…the sincerity of it was overwhelming. Sharing emotions, merging souls with someone else…it was almost too much to bear.

Something solid struck the other side of his door, startling Grif out of his deep and frantic thoughts. “What?” he shouted, mentally cursing as his voice cracked slightly.

“Grif! Open the damn door!” Simmons snapped.

“Go away!” returned Grif. Though his mind just wanted Simmons to go his soul disagreed. It showed in his tone, lacking heat and force.

The hammering on his bedroom door stopped. There was a beat of silence before Simmons said in resignation, “Look, I get it if you don’t want to be bonded with me. I’m the kiss-up nerd. Why would you want to be soulmates? But I know you’re hurting as much as I am. We can’t stop it and we’re not going to be much use to Sarge in this state.”

Simmons, as usual, was right. The throbbing pain was getting worse, spreading through his chest, flickering like flames. Grif knew it would not ease until he finished binding his soul with Simmons’. With trembling fingers, he yanked open the door, where Simmons recoiled in surprise at the quick surrender.

“News flash, I’ve never been much use to Sarge,” said Grif, stepping aside and granting Simmons entry.

“Fair point.” Simmons hesitantly moved passed the threshold. Water dripped down his neck and arms, making small drops on the floor and making damp marks on his grey T-shirt and shorts. “Um…do you wanna…?” he began awkwardly.

“Go ahead,” Grif interjected.

Despite his reservations, his confusion, he couldn’t deny the awful sensation snaking through his chest, a pain that felt like he was burning alive from the inside out. The consequence of ripping their souls apart before they got a chance to properly connect was unbearable.

He never thought he’d have another soulmate. And here he was, nearly throwing away the priceless opportunity, because he was stubborn and scared.

His permission was all Simmons needed. Without wasting another second, he reached out and set his hand firmly against Grif’s lower back. The warmth spread through him again and this time he stayed connected long enough to experience the scents of apples and syrup and spice. He’d always been baffled in school, when teachers explained that each soul shared unique scents during the soul-bonding. But he understood now. Though they were in the middle of a canyon that never saw seasons, Simmons brought autumn right to him.

Grif slowly set his hand against his soulmark on Simmons’ shoulder. Though the fabric covered the handprint, he knew exactly where it was and didn’t need to search for it. Simmons let out a small, relieved sigh when their souls connected once more.

The process was foreign and new, and it took a minute for Grif to figure out how to navigate Simmons’ soul. Beneath the warmth, he could feel the anxiety crackling through Simmons. He felt the desperate need to be useful and wanted. Grif nearly shrunk back at the hurt that pierced through him, the hurt from his initial rejection.

_‘It wasn’t you,’_ he thought. Because he knew that hurt, knew that agony, and hadn’t meant to cause anyone else to feel it. He tried to spread comfort and felt Simmons anxiety recede slightly. _‘I didn’t pull away because of you.’_

_‘I know.’_

And Simmons did know. He knew the loneliness in Grif’s soul. The fear that he was alone, the need to accept the fact and not be broken by it. The need to protect himself from emotional turmoil. He remembered his own school days, of kids forcing him to the ground and painting handprints on his body. Jeering that these were as close to soulmarks as he would ever get.

Grif’s eyes jerked over to him, the torment from the memory still raw. _‘You too?’_

_‘Yeah. I didn’t have any soulmarks going through school. It was a nightmare. When I shipped out, I thought…I thought I imagined having all those handprints appear when I was kid. But I guess I just needed to be patient.’_

Happiness suddenly poured through Grif and despite himself he let hope rise in his chest to meet Simmons’ glee. There was sudden click, one that they felt more than heard, a satisfying snap as their souls finished connecting.

“Okay,” muttered Grif, letting his hand drop to his side, his soul still humming. “Well, it’s not exactly how I imagined getting my first soulmark, but it’ll do, I guess.”

“Me either,” said Simmons, rubbing the back of his neck. Regarding Grif for a moment, he said hesitantly, "I don’t hate you by the way.”

“Huh?”

“It’s what I felt when we were connected. You’re annoying and lazy and insufferable sure, but I don’t hate you. Most days, anyway.”

“Thank you for that reassurance,” said Grif with a roll of his eyes. “If it helps, I don’t hate you either. Not all the time.” He paused for a second before adding, “And you are accepted. I sincerely doubt Sarge puts trust in just anyone.”

“Thanks,” said Simmons, voice hitching slightly. Not just from a remark that meant everything to him, but from the delight that was still charging through him. After decades of waiting, of wishing, he had a _soulmate_.

As he turned his head away, blinking rapidly, Grif groaned. “Dude, do not start crying.”

“Who do you think I am?” snapped Simmons, even as an embarrassed heat rose in his cheeks. “Donut?”

“I’m pretty sure the universe can only handle one of him. But if you start putting together a book of wallpaper samples and applying glitter nail polish voluntarily, I’ll do us both a favour and put you out of your misery.”

“You know what, I think I’d be okay with that.” Simmons lightly clapped Grif on the shoulder. “We better head to bed. Sarge is not going to be pleased if we sleep in.”

“Pfft. That’s never stopped me before.”

Simmons smiled and started for the door. Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder and said seriously, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Lightly brushing his thumb against Kai’s tiny yellow mark on his hand, Grif said, “I wasn’t alone. But thanks.”

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Simmons said curiously, “Your sister. Did you really exchange soulmarks when she was just an infant?”

Grif was caught off guard for a second before realizing Simmons had gathered that information from their bonding. You couldn’t lie or hide anything in the soul-realm. That would take some getting used to. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “Weird, right?”

“I think it’s fascinating,” said Simmons, awe glinting in his eyes. “It’s a rare phenomenon. There’s only been five recorded instances since the beginning of soulmark and soulmate research.”

Grif could not help but laugh, a grin curling across his lips. “You are such a nerd. Goodnight, Simmons.”

“Goodnight, Grif.”

The door slid shut behind him and Grif immediately twisted around, gripping the hem of his shirt and jerking it upwards. He turned towards the mirror, craning his neck, and stared at the maroon handprint resting in the middle of his lower back.

The hope Simmons had ignited continued to flicker, despite Grif’s attempts to quash it. He finally had the mark of his second soulmate but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d receive the others anytime soon. It had taken this long and maybe the other marks wouldn’t ever be filled in.

But that was okay, he tried to convince himself. He had his sister and now he had Simmons. He had two soulmates. That was fine. He could live with that. It was more than enough.


	3. Donut

Everything hurt.

A weak groan escaped Grif’s lips and he shifted his body, which he immediately regretted when pain flared through his entire being. Something solid settled against his chest, preventing him from moving, and he fell limply back against the metal cot.

“Ow…what happened?” he asked groggily. The whiteness of his vision gained colour, bit by bit until the Red Base’s main room swam into shaky focus.

“You were hit by Sheila,” replied Donut. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be moving again, he lifted his hand and regarded Grif intently. “She really did a number on you.”

“Of course she did. She’s a freaking tank,” hissed Grif. Though his body felt like it was broken his mind was in tip-top shape. “You left me, asshole.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Grif would have turned his head to look at Simmons if he knew it wouldn’t bring him agony.

“Shut up, it’s my trick.”

“Ah, you’re up dirtbag!” Stepping into the room, he turned to Simmons and Donut and barked, “You were supposed to tell me when he was awake!”

“He just woke up,” protested Simmons. “Literally seconds ago.”

“Your response time is lagging, Simmons. I would expect that from Grif.”

“He doesn’t _have_ a response time.”

Taking a deep breath, he gingerly sat up. Grif winced at the stiffness in his limbs and tried to ignore the fire that rippled through him. “I feel like crap,” he said hoarsely.

“Yeah, having most of your organs removed and replaced will do that to ya,” said Sarge nonchalantly.

Grif blinked, staring at his Commanding Officer blankly. “Excuse me?”

“That tank crushed your insides like roadkill,” said Sarge with a laugh. “It was quite a sight.”

“You replaced my organs? With what?” Eyes suddenly going wide with horror, Grif asked, “No. Please tell me I’m not a cyborg!”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He’s not lying,” interjected Simmons. “I, uh, I lent you a few organs. And one limb. I’m the cyborg.”

“Why…why would you do that?” asked Grif in bewilderment.

Simmons tilted his head to one side. “I mean, I’d rather not have donated organs to this war, but I’d rather not lose my soulmate so quickly. It sucks, but I guess having metal organs is cool. And the metal leg.”

“Until you have to go through airport security,” chimed in Donut.

“Shut up, I’m trying to look at the bright side,” snapped Simmons.

Touched beyond belief that Simmons had been willing to go to great lengths to save him, Grif could not help but smile. “Thanks. I guess I owe you one.”

“Oh, you so owe me one,” agreed Simmons.

Affection and relief surged through Grif for a brief moment before settling. Grif would have been a bit more concerned at feeling emotions that weren’t his if he wasn’t used to it. Growing up, he and Kai were always able to feel each other’s emotions, twenty-four/seven. He’d thought it was normal.

The first time Simmons felt Grif’s emotions outside of a soul-bond, he freaked out. Grif was bemused until Simmons explained that no, it was not normal. He wanted desperately to do further research on the matter, but there was a severe lack of books in Blood Gulch and Wi-Fi was basically non-existent.

“Alright, stop with the mushy stuff,” said Sarge in disgust.

Grif would have whipped his head around if he could, spooked by how he could possibly know the affection Simmons was broadcasting. Realizing that it must be the brief verbal exchange between he and Simmons Sarge was referring to, Grif gave a mental snort.

_Right. Duh._  

“How did he convince you to save me?” he asked, raising a brow. “It’s been your life dream to see me dead.”

“True, but it’s also my life dream to be the one to kill you! And that day will be all the sweeter when I have to wait for it!” Sarge let out an annoyed huff, adding, “Though I wish it wasn’t taking so long.”

“That tank is still kicking around, and it’s got a pretty decent attempted kill record, so you might get your chance,” said Grif dryly.

“I can only hope.” Turning to Simmons, Sarge jerked his head to the side. “C’mon, I want to make sure all your parts are oiled up.”

“But you already—” began Simmons, only to cut himself off and make a peculiar expression. “Right, yes, oil. Always good to oil your parts. Never enough oil!”

Grif’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you being weird? Weirder than usual, anyway.”

“No reason!”

The pair departed rather quickly from the room, leaving Grif to stare after them, baffled. He let Simmons’ emotions roll over him, only finding glee and anticipation. He didn’t find any answers, which he supposed was the benefit of what Simmons called a soul-link. They could only feel emotions, not the reasons behind them.

Heaving a sigh, he shifted his legs to dangle off the metal cot. His limbs were still searing with pain, but his chest…there was the familiar, horrible feeling…

He turned to stare at Donut, who lingered behind. The first thing Grif noticed was that he was out of armour, which was odd, since Sarge usually had strict orders against that. The second thing Grif noticed was that Donut was staring at him, almost longingly, his hands twitching by his sides.

The split-second identification of the sensation in his chest caused Grif’s mouth to fall open slightly. He immediately peered down at his body, trying to find the soulmark that triggered the connection and found the pink handprint covering the back of his right hand.

“I, uh, thought it might make you feel better if I held your hand,” said Donut, running his fingers through his tousled platinum blonde hair. “Skin-to-skin contact always makes me feel good.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Three hours.”

“You’ve been dealing with this--,” Here Grif gestured to his chest, where the phantom fire was intense and made it difficult to breathe, “—for three hours?”

Donut gave a weak smile. “Yeah, but it’s okay. You got run over. You’re probably in way worse pain than I am.”

This was far too much to take in, considering he’d just woken up from having his damaged organs and apparently a leg removed from his body. Simmons had saved his life and Donut had spent hours in extreme discomfort, waiting to share the soul-connecting process when he was finally awake and functional.

“You’re such a dork,” said Grif.

He held out his hand and Donut’s icy blue eyes brightened. He immediately stepped over and latched onto the extended appendage. Grif immediately felt a flood of delight and eagerness accompanied by a tinge of bubble-gum and roses. He grabbed onto Donut’s left wrist and their souls started to hum together.

Donut was just so happy to be soulmates, to get to have this intimate experience—

_‘Dude! Do not use the word intimate.’_

_‘Aw, why not?’_

_‘Because it’s weird coming from you!’_

_‘Fine. Special experience, then.’_

The joy seeping from Donut was almost overwhelming. And the deeper Grif searched Donut’s soul, he could see why. The lingering resentment from being bullied in his past, for being told he was too girly and not enough of a man. Being told that that was the reason he didn’t have any soulmarks, that he would never have soulmates. That pink was not a boy’s colour. They stole his pink shirt right from his body and left him stranded in the cold fall weather—

_‘Sorry! I can share a happy memory—'_

_‘Don’t.’_

Grif’s fury rolled off of him in waves. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that they got mistreated and abused for things they couldn’t control, for interests that were harmless. It wasn’t fair that they spent a lifetime of thinking they would always be alone.

Donut’s affection smoothed over him, cooling the brunt of his anger and Grif let the comfort wash over him. There was an inaudible click and they let go of each other, Grif letting out a hard breath. Concerned, Donut hovered over him.

“Are you okay? I guess we shouldn’t have done this so quickly after your surgery. But darn it, I was too excited to hold it in!”

“I guess it’s better than doing it while I was unconscious,” said Grif. Suddenly rethinking his words, he quickly said, “Wait, I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” spoke Donut, a tiny smirk curling across his lips.

“Ugh. I think your soul leaked into my brain,” muttered Grif.

“This is the best day ever,” said Donut cheerfully.

The delight spread through him, blossoming into his chest. Grift peered at Donut curiously, wondering if he too could sense emotions outside of a soul-bond.

“Sure can!”

“Sure can what?” asked Grif in confusion.

“Feel your emotions, silly! That’s what you were asking, right?”

Grif gaped at him. “Please tell me you can’t read my mind.”

“Of course not!” said Donut with a laugh. “I just felt your intrigue and took a guess at what you were inquisitive about.”

“You’re not shocked?” Grif asked with a raised brow.

“Nope! You’re not the first one I’m soul-linked with.”

The familiar terminology caused Grif’s eyes to widened. “Wait. Soul-linked. Simmons came up with that. Does that mean…?”

“Yup!” Donut raised his hand up, the new orange mark on his wrist glinting in the light, and jerked down the collar of his shirt, revealing a portion of his collarbone. “We’ve got matching marks!” he said, beaming. “How lucky can a guy be to be part of a threesome?”

Grif immediately prevented the unwanted mental image from entering his mind. “Okay, you seriously need to rethink your phrasing.” But he lightly ran his fingers over the pink handprint, disbelief coursing through him. “It’s kind of weird.”

“What is?”

“You. Me. Simmons. Bullied for having little to no soulmarks. And we all end up here. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Not really. It’s fate.” When Grif pulled a face, Donut elbowed him lightly in the side. “Come on, of course it’s fate! That’s what having soulmates is all about. Waiting to meet them when it’s meant to be.”

“I guess,” said Grif, though he wasn’t convinced.

“Aw, don’t be so pouty!” Donut clasped Grif’s right hand and the Hawaiian native jolted in surprise at the sudden influx of Donut’s positive emotions. “We’re finally together! You should be happy!”

“Kinda hard when being run over by a tank and having organ surgery puts a damper on things,” Grif said. But despite his words delight swelled within him.

“Hey, ladies!” Sarge’s voice bellowed from outside the base. “Quit the sappy Nancy talk and get out here! We got work to do!”

“Geez. So much for a rest day,” Grif muttered in annoyance.

Donut helped him stand and he let go of Grif’s hand. “Want me to help squeeze you inside your armour?”

“Damn it, Donut, no!”

“Okie-dokie! I’ll meet you outside!”

Donut spun on his heel and before he left to grab his own pink armour, Grif caught sight of the red mark peeking out from behind his shirt, fingers spreading up the back of his neck. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t Simmons’ mark. Who did it belong to?

“Double-time, boys! Move it!”

_No…it couldn’t be…could it?_

Grif hastily shook his head, dispelling the thought. So what if he too had a red handprint? It could be anyone. Maybe a future Red recruit. Fate may have worked in mysterious ways, but it wasn’t _that_ mysterious.


	4. Church

It was his first day being stationed at Blood Gulch and already he was forced to do exercise. Grif had hoped he would at least get a break since leaving the training base, but apparently his Commanding Officer was a stickler for rules. His rules, anyway, which were rapidly turning out not to make much sense. It would probably be in his benefit to get on Sarge’s good side…he’d have to work on that.

As Grif struggled through his tenth push-up, sweat already dripping down his body and muscles feeling like they were going to give way at any moment, he cursed Simmons for opening his big mouth. “Just had to claim credit for the stupid paperwork,” he grumbled. “Got us both in trouble. Ugh, this sucks!”

“Come on, Private!” called Sarge, standing on the top of Red Base, observing his new subordinate disapprovingly. “My grandma could do push-ups better than you!”

“Is that seriously as fast as you can go?” asked Simmons, who finished his twenty push-ups five minutes ago.

“You know what they say about slow and steady,” returned Grif, letting out a grunt as he completed his eleventh push-up.

A strange tingling started to work his way through his shoulder. Brow furrowing, Grif ignored the sensation at first, but when it intensified to the point where he couldn’t feel the limb anymore he abruptly stopped his punishment.

“I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“What?” called Simmons, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he flexed his right wrist, trying to rid himself of what he believed to be pins and needles.

“A heart attack! I can’t feel my shoulder! That’s a symptom, right?”

The retort on Sarge’s tongue paused. He twisted his body slightly, but the numbness remained in his left side. But just as quickly as it came it passed and he shook his head. “Quit whining and keep pushing!” he barked. “You still got nine to go, Private! Keep me waiting and I’ll add on another ten!”

Grif took a second to catch his breath, moving his arm in a circular motion and feeling the pull in his shoulder. That had been weirdly familiar. It reminded him of how his body had felt when he was twelve, when his soulmarks appeared for the first time. But that didn’t make sense. Soulmarks didn’t appear later in life.

No, it was most definitely the symptom of a heart attack.

…

“I hate my life.”

Sitting in the corner of the Sidewinder jail cell, dressed only in his grey underclothes, Grif wrapped his arms tightly around his knees as he shivered violently. The concrete floor retained the cold from outside, which also carried the vibrations from the howling winter wind.

“Come on, it could be worse,” remarked Church.

“How?”

“You could be dead.”

“I don’t know, at least I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off,” grumbled Grif. “Why did they let you keep your armour?”

“Uh…they found out pretty quickly it’s really hard to come off,” said Church vaguely.

“That’s bull,” muttered Grif. “This is discrimination. They always pick on the chubby guy.”

The minutes seemed to stretch on and Grif’s skin started to take on a blue tinge, his teeth chattering madly. Church stared at him, pity rising up as Grif tried curling tighter within himself. Turning his head towards the metal bars, Church hollered, “Hey assholes! Hurry up! You already emptied out the bullets from his gun and there’s nothing in his armour but snack cakes!”

“Shut the hell up in there!” their guard shouted from down the hall. “Or else one of his bullets will end up in your head!”

Church gave a snort. “Yeah, like that’ll do anything,” he muttered lowly.

“Well, thanks for the attempt,” said Grif with a shaky sigh. “If I die here, let Sarge know I went peacefully and quickly. He’ll hate that.”

“You’re not gonna die here. At least I don’t think so. Get up, walk around. You’re gonna lose a limb or something if you just sit there.”

“Hey, if I lost an arm and didn’t get it replaced, that’d get me out of the army, right?”

Church highly doubted it, considering he was literally dead and still in this stupid war, but he kept this to himself. Instead he strode over to where Grif was slumped in the corner, his eyes worryingly unfocussed and half-shut. “Probably not. So get the hell up and quit your whining.”

His armour-plated hand clapped down on Grif’s right shoulder. The Hawaiian native immediately let out a yelp and instinctively gripped Church’s left wrist. Frustration and agitation charged through him, quickly followed by surprise. Beneath the emotions was a mounting coldness, caused not by the temperature of the cell. His body started to curl away but Church’s grip increased.

_‘Don’t even think about it.’_

_‘Dude, you are not making this any easier!’_

_‘I know, but it’s not like I can help it.’_

The sensation of Church’s soul was like the quiet force of a blizzard. When Grif got used to it, it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, just the crisp cold one would feel on an early winter morning. Beneath the chill were layers, layers of the soul Grif could see but not move past. Some unfolded before him, others remained locked. Church’s fear of losing Tex loomed forwards, like a dark cloud disturbing a pleasant sunny winter morning.

_‘We’ll get her. And O’Malley.’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘She’ll probably kick his ass before we even find them.’_

Amusement flowed through Grif at that, followed by fond affection and gratitude. There was a click as their souls finished connecting and Grif turned his head, staring at the blue handprint that now spread across his shoulder. His brow furrowed slightly as he recalled it was the same shoulder, the same spot, which had gone inexplicably numb a few years ago.

“This is weird,” said Grif, running his chilled fingers through his long raven locks. “I thought soulmarks couldn’t be exchanged through armour.”

“Uh…yeah, they can’t.”

“What do you mean they can’t? It just happened! Unless I’m seriously out of it and this is all a hallucination.”

Church let out a sigh. “Alright. I have to show you something. You’re gonna freak out, but try not to scream.”

Grif stared blankly for a moment, but his expression transformed into shock as Church stepped out of his armour, a transparent silhouette against their concrete environment. Before Grif could properly process what was happening Church hastily stepped back into his robot body, the footfalls of the guard rapidly approaching them.

“What the _hell_ \--?”

Grif’s exclamation was cut short as the guard appeared at their cell. His orange armour was tossed inside, as well as his empty gun, and Grif wasted no time in pulling on the plating. The second he was fully covered he activated the heating unit, letting out a sigh of relief as the warm air engulfed him.

The guard walked away without a word and Grif turned to face Church. “Let me continue. What the _hell_ are you?”

“Remember when Caboose was in the tank and started firing at you guys and your jeep?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Caboose accidentally killed me. I’m a ghost. Have been since then.”

“But you have a body!”

“What, you think I wanted Sarge to make a couple of robot bodies just for fun?” asked Church with a scoff.

Grif struggled to comprehend what he was being told. “So you’re dead. And you’re a ghost. And you inhabit robot bodies.”

“Basically.”

Pressing a hand against the top of his head, Grif cried, “This makes zero sense! A dead person can’t soul-bond with people!”

“Not normal dead people. But I’m a _ghost_. And what makes up a ghost, dumbass?”

“A…soul?”

“Good job, ten points.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me!” snapped Grif. “This is messed up!”

“Tell me about it,” said Church feelingly. “I thought I had enough idiots for soulmates and now I just have another one.”

Though his tone contained annoyance the affection that rushed through Grif was sincere. Grif smirked and said, “Yeah. You’re real torn up about it.”

“Shut up,” snapped Church. Gaining a more serious tone, he said awkwardly, “Uh, I’m sorry about the assholes who made your life hell.”

“Why are you apologizing? I mean, I know you’re an asshole, but you don’t have to apologize on behalf of all the others I’ve had to deal with.”

“I know. But it’s complete crap.”

“It is,” agreed Grif. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know, your soulmarks. Where were you when they first appeared? Did you have any before Blood Gulch?”

He hadn’t had access to most of Church’s memories while connected to his soul. Which was strange, considering the soul-realm was supposed to be the one place where nothing could be hidden or buried. But Grif didn’t dwell on it too much—it was hard to worry about that when his newest soulmate was a _ghost._

When Church didn’t speak, Grif muttered sheepishly, “Sorry, that was probably too personal.”

“Dude, we’re soulmates,” said Church flatly. “Pretty sure there aren’t personal boundaries anymore. I don’t know. About the soulmarks, I mean. I’ve had Tex’s for about as long as I can remember. But you, and the others, I think they came later?” Church gave a thoughtful hum as he mulled it over. “Huh. I don’t really remember the exact moment.”

It didn’t make sense to Grif that Church didn’t remember, since everyone received their soulmarks when they were twelve. It was difficult to forget the time and place when the monumental event occurred. But Grif couldn’t argue, since he was ninety-nine percent sure Church’s soulmark had formed on his first day at Blood Gulch.

“I guess we’re stuck with each other now,” said Grif, trying to sound indifferent despite the happiness that was coursing through him.

“Guess so,” returned Church with fond exasperation.

“But I’d rather not be stuck in this damn cell.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Grif asked, “Can you do a ghost thing and open these doors?”

“I can.”

“Then why didn’t you do it the second we were thrown in here?” cried Grif. “I was freezing to death!”

“Well I couldn’t do it while there were guards around the corner!” shot back Church. “But now they’re gone.”

But before Church could do anything the iron bars slid upwards. “Whoa. That was quick.”

“Wasn’t me,” said Church in bewilderment. “But whatever, it works. Let’s go.”

As they jogged out of the cell, Grif had a sudden thought and he asked, “Wait, you requested that Sarge make you two robots. What was the second one for?”

“Tex. She’s a ghost too.”

_“What?”_

…

“I’m leaving. I’m going with them.”

Though Grif could not see Washington’s face through his visor, the shock in his voice gave him a decent picture of his expression. “What?”

“This is your fight. Not mine.”

“It’s your fight more than anyone else’s!” exclaimed Wash.

“I don’t care what you say,” said Church flatly, resting one hand against the side of the jeep Caboose had chosen. “No. It isn’t.”

“Church, you’ll never get another shot at fixing all of this. I know you don’t believe what I’ve told you, but you need to ask yourself. What if I’m wrong? If I am or if you have any doubts not finding out will haunt you for the rest of your life. Not just about you but finding out about everyone close to you as well. It’s your choice. What’s it going to be?”

“You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am the Alpha. But I’m not just a damn computer,” hissed Church. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to risk.”

“I understand you made a life for yourself. More than the Director could have ever expected,” said Wash patiently. “You’re not the only one risking everything. If I get caught, I’m going down with the rest of Project Freelancer.”

“Boo-hoo for you,” said Church sarcastically. “Least there’s a chance you’re not going to be dead.”

“Church, you need to do this.”

“Stop saying that!” shouted Church, slamming his fist against the metal exterior and making Caboose jump in fright. “I freaking know I need to do this! But I can’t put them through that!”

Washington turned to Caboose, Sarge, Grif and Simmons, who were observing the pair awkwardly. “I know they’ll miss you—”

“It’s more than that!”

Church stepped out of his body, his transparent form glowing in the dim lighting. After a moment of concentration, he made coloured handprints form. They shimmered into existence on his body, among them red, maroon, orange and dark blue. On the inside of his left wrist, written in black cursive, was Tex’s name.

Washington’s gun clattered to the floor.

“What?” he asked, voice strangled with disbelief. “How—?”

“He’s not just a compute program,” spoke Grif, reaching up to snap off his shoulder plating, revealing the blue handprint. “And while this makes even less sense considering he’s not actually dead, or have a soul for that matter, he’s still one of us. He’s still a person. He’s Church.”

“That’s right!” said Caboose, nodding hard. “He is our best friend, because we have his Best Friend marks and he has ours! But I am his number one best friend. Just so everyone knows.”

“He’s an asshole and everything but he’s, you know, our asshole,” said Simmons determinedly. “And if he doesn’t want to go with you, he doesn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” said Sarge gruffly. “You’re the one who dragged us into this mess in the first place. You never said we had to make a sacrifice.”

“See?” said Church defiantly, merging back with his robot body. “It may not make any damn sense, but I am not putting my soulmates through my death. Look me dead in the eye and tell me again what I should do.”

Washington stared at the floor for a moment, seeming to have an internal struggle. Finally, he raised his head and said in a monotone, “It’s the only thing you can do to fix all of this. And I know you want to.”

“You son of a—”

Church lunged forwards and Grif intercepted him, circling his fingers around his wrist. He felt the confliction crash over him like a wave as Church wrestled with his need to discover the truth for himself and protect his friends from heartache.

“If you want to do this, do it,” he said firmly. “You will regret it if you don’t.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” interrupted Simmons. “Seriously. “We’ll…we’ll find a way to be okay.”

Church reached out and curled his hand over Grif’s shoulder, listening to the comfort his soul brought for a moment. Grif closed his eyes and memorized the cold rush from Church’s soul that always engulfed him. He tried not to think about how it may be the last time he would ever feel it.

A minute later Grif moved back and Simmons approached, lightly placing his hand over Church’s right forearm. They took their turns giving Church the comfort he needed, the determination to spur him to make the decision he had to make. Caboose went last and he hesitated for a second before gently setting his palm against Church’s chest.

Grif turned his head away, not able to imagine what Caboose was thinking, if he even understood what was about to take place. Anxiety and fear rose in his gut but he ignored it. He knew losing Church was going to hurt, in more ways than one. And it wasn’t fair. He’d known Church for only six years and had him as a soulmate less than that. They hadn’t spent nearly enough time together.

He peeked over to catch Caboose leaning away from Church. “Okay,” said Church, struggling to speak past the gratitude and love that formed a lump in his throat. “I’ll do it.”

“Caboose, are you okay with that?” asked Sarge carefully.

“Yes! It is what Church wants to do. It is important to him, so it is important to me. We will see each other after!”

He said it with such sincerity, with pure belief, that no one had the heart to correct him. When Wash tried, a threatening growl from Sarge shut him up quickly.

“Thank you,” he said instead, coughing slightly. He regarded each of them, his brain trying and failing to understand how an A.I. could possibly be able to exchange soulmarks. It was impossible. It _should_ have been impossible.

_Who exactly are these guys?_

He didn’t have time to dwell on it as Church asked, “So what exactly do I need to do?”

“I’ll explain on the way. You should be able to enter the A.I. slot in my armour. You’ll remain hidden until it’s time for you to make your move.”

“Got it.”

Church left his robot body but before he went over to Wash he approached Grif, Sarge and Simmons. “Take care of Caboose,” he said lowly.  

 “We will,” they promised.

“I will!” cried Caboose, even though he couldn’t hear what Church had said. “Wait, I will what?”

“Don’t worry about,” assured Church. “Be safe, buddy.”

“Okay! I will follow all traffic laws!”

“Tell Tucker he’s a lazy useless piece of crap. And I’m going to miss him.”

“I will tell him,” vowed Caboose.

Church surveyed his friends, who he knew were about to be in extreme agony, just for him and his needs. Whoever said computers couldn’t feel emotions were full of crap. “Good luck, guys. And thanks.”

“Aw, don’t get mushy on us now. Let’s go, dagnabbit!” said Sarge, succeeding in keeping his voice from shaking.

Church nodded and disappeared into Wash’s armour. “Do not worry Church! I will keep your body safe!” promised Caboose, lugging the metal body into the passenger’s seat of his jeep.

“Uh…I better go with Caboose,” muttered Sarge. “For obvious reasons.”

“Yeah, smart idea,” said Grif.

Sarge went to take the gun position on Caboose’s jeep. Surveying the soldiers, Wash instructed, “Just run. Get Epsilon out of here. Turn it over to the authorities the first chance you get. When the E.M.P. goes off—”

“You mean the emp?” piped in Caboose.

“Stop it,” said Wash flatly. “It will destroy Epsilon if you’re not far enough away.”

“You got it Mr. Washington!” exclaimed Caboose.

“Take care of yourselves guys,” said Wash sincerely. He felt a stab of guilt for what they were about to go through but steeled himself against it. They had no choice. Losing a soulmate happened sooner or later. And in their line of work, they would have to get used to it. “I know that’s one thing you’re good at.”

He opened the door and the two jeeps sailed out of the base. The Meta fell for the bait and they gunned it across the field, dust spraying in all directions. Caboose wasn’t the smoothest driver and a particularly vicious jolt sent Church’s body flying over the side.

“Don’t even think about it!” barked Sarge, noticing Caboose’s foot jerking towards the brake.

“But his body--!”

“We don’t have time Caboose! Quit slowin’ down and move it!”

Though Caboose was reluctant he slammed his foot back on the gas, shooting a solemn glance at the prone robot body in the grass behind them.

It was a minute later when the bomb went off, an electric wave disabling every vehicle and electronic within range. Grif and Simmons didn’t quite make it, their jeep stalling and screeching to a halt. They waved Sarge and Caboose ahead, hollering for them to keep moving.

As they watched the jeep grow further away, Epsilon safely secured, Grif had a realization. He felt nothing.

“Simmons—”

“Do you think--?”

Grif unattached his shoulder plating. There was the blue mark, as bright as ever. Stunned, Grif stared at Simmons. “How is this possible? I thought the emp was supposed to destroy everything?”

“I don’t know,” said Simmons slowly. “But to be fair, nothing about having Church’s soulmark makes sense.”

Grif focussed on his emotions. He felt Donut’s concern, Kai’s perplexity and Simmons’ hope but nothing from Church. It was like an empty tunnel he could no longer access. Church’s connection was still there, but it had gone silent.

They didn’t have an answer for what exactly was going on. But it didn’t matter. They were just grateful that the agony and torture that came from having a soulmate die did not come. Which meant that somehow, somewhere, Church was still alive.


	5. Doc

It was dusk when Grif began to climb the cliffside, though he only knew it was dusk by glancing at the time flashing in the corner of his visor. The sun in this blasted canyon was always in the same position, shining brightly and the sky was, as usual, a crystal blue.

He was three-quarters of the way up the rocky, uneven path when his legs and lungs began to burn. “Geez. We need some elevators in this place,” he muttered to himself, breathing hard from the little exertion he was putting his body through.

He was just near the top when his foot caught on a piece of stone jutting out from the dirt. He tripped forwards and landed knee first, smashing it hard into the ground. He let out a hiss as agony immediately seared through the ligaments.

“Screw this, screw me,” he growled in frustration. “Why am I always getting hurt?”

He straggled to his feet and limped the last stretch to the top of the cliff. He collapsed into a sitting position on the cliff’s edge, cursing as he gingerly pried off his armour. He rolled up his pantleg and started at the swollen flesh of his injured knee.

“That’s the last time I get some exercise,” he sighed.

There was a modest sized boulder nearby, the perfect height to prop up his knee. He laid against the ground, the dirt warm against his skin. He closed his eyes, relishing the rare, soft breeze that carried through the canyon, tickling his long hair.

For a moment he laid in silence. For the first time in years, Church wasn’t screaming at Tucker and Caboose, and Sarge wasn’t barking orders at an unnecessary volume. They were all probably gathered inside Blue Base, their sounds muffled by concrete walls, as they got situated for movie night.

Or as Kai called it, together time with their soulmates. Grif had tried pointing out that only four people in the canyon were his soulmates, including her, but she was dismissive. She was certain all of the members of Blood Gulch were his soulmates, as they had matching colours, but Grif was doubtful. And maybe slightly bitter if he was being honest.

But he tried not to let the bitterness consume him. He was happy that Kaikaiana was surrounded by soulmates. With every handprint that was filled in she raced over to Red Base to show him with a goofy grin on her features. For some reason Sarge didn’t protest when Kai came storming in, squealing at the top of her lungs. She was a Blue, after all, in addition to being his sister. Grif didn’t understand his lax and uncharacteristic attitude until Kai came to him, proudly displaying the red handprint on her upper right arm.

Which meant Sarge had a matching yellow handprint, one that he had known belonged to Kai. Grif couldn’t fathom how he had guessed. But he wasn’t surprised that Sarge remembered the colour of his unfilled soulmark after all these years. It was something one didn’t forget. Unless you were Church, who clearly suffered from memory problems.

It did not take long for Kai to have a collection of colours on her body. Red, maroon, blue, dark blue, aquamarine, pink and purple along with his orange. It never passed Grif’s notice that Kai’s soulmarks matched his to a ‘T’. He figured it was a coincidence. Or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself.

He’d spent five years in this canyon and only had three soulmarks filled in. Kai had been here only months and had almost all of them completed. It didn’t make sense, which Grif thought had to mean that their soulmark colours were for different people.

Giving his head a hard shake to dispel the gloom beginning to gather Grif started to settle back in for a nap. Footsteps falling against the earth caused his eyes to snap open and his lips to form a scowl. “Whoever it is better get lost!” he warned. “I am not moving from this spot!”

Doc appeared at the top of the cliff, sun glinting off his purple armour. “That’s cool,” he replied. “I’ll just join you.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember extending an invitation,” said Grif in annoyance.

“Whoa, what happened to your knee?” asked Doc in concern, ignoring Grif and focussing on the injury.

“Nothing! Don’t touch it!” yelped Grif.

He would have jumped up, but the slightest movement caused his knee to scream in agony. Grif tensed as Doc approached, raising his scanner to get a reading. “You’ve got a sprain,” he declared.

“No crap.” Grif eyed Doc warily as he bent down, beginning to remove his gauntlets. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how severe the injury is. Let me know the pain on a scale of one to ten.”

Grif opened his mouth to protest as Doc’s hand settled over his knee. The words he planned to utter were consumed by a startled gasp as his soul jolted from Doc’s contact. He reached out and snagged Doc’s left forearm, the pain flaring in his knee overwhelmed by the emotions that now flowed through him.

The surprise was quickly followed by hope and uncertainty, accompanied by the scents of peppermint and lemon drops. Doc was delighted to have Grif as his soulmate but was uncertain if the sentiment was reciprocated. There was one memory that rose to the surface, almost overshadowing the others.

_“_ _Uh, hey, guys? I-I just want everybody to know that Grif and I aren't, uh, technically friends…uh, we're just talking. That's it. Sorry, man, but it's pretty obvious that you're really unpopular, and if I'm gonna make any progress around here at all I can't really be directly associated with you. I'm sure you understand. It’s only because no one likes you.”_

Beneath the crystal-clear images of the past simmered regret and guilt. Grif dug deeper into his soul, finding only more pain and tragedy. But there was also a foundation of sincerity, the happiness to be alive and a desire to help people.

_‘I’m sorry about your brother.’_

_‘I wish I could have saved him.’_

_‘I know.’_ Grif couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose his sister and he didn’t want to. _‘You did what you could. Wasn’t your fault.’_

Their souls clicked and they let go of each other. Grif glanced down at the purple handprint resting overtop his knee. Happiness swelled within him at finding yet another soulmate. Doc lifted his forearm, admiring the orange mark.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I gathered that,” said Grif in amusement. When a slight sniffle emitted from behind Doc’s visor, he asked incredulously, “Are you crying?”

“No!”

Grif climbed to his feet, despite the objections from his knee, and reached over, snatching the helmet off. Doc’s face was revealed, dark cheeks matted with tears. Grif clicked his tongue and adjusted Doc’s wire-framed glasses, which were askew.

“Seriously, dude. I don’t care. I didn’t care when you said it and I don’t care now. I don’t know if you noticed, but there are a lot of jerks in this canyon.”

“Yeah, but they’re different jerks. The stuff they say…it doesn’t affect me. Not the way it did when others would taunt me.” Doc smiled sheepishly. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“I get it,” said Grif with a nod. The insults and verbal barbs the kids in high school would throw at him stung deep. But somehow, the insults used daily in Blood Gulch barely registered. Some hit a sore spot, sure, but it didn’t hurt him. “I also get why you tried to distance yourself from me in the first place. You were sick of being picked on. Sorry that hasn’t changed.”

Doc laughed at that. “I guess I can take it. Least the ones messing with me are my soulmates.”

“Hey losers!”

Tucker’s voice drifted through the canyon and carried up to where they were standing. Grif peeked over the edge to see the aquamarine-suited solider standing outside of Blue Base, facing them. “What?!”

“Get you asses down here! It’s movie night!”

“I am not watching Reservoir Dogs again! I can’t take it!”

“I don’t care! You got five minutes to get down here!” There was brief pause before he added, “Sarge says he’ll kneecap both of you if you’re late!”

“Hopefully he’ll aim for the bad knee,” quipped Grif.

“I’ll help you down,” offered Doc.

They reattached their armour and Doc wound an arm around Grif’s shoulders. As they began their way down the cliff, contentment flowing through their soul-link, Doc said, “I’m sure there’s a brace somewhere in the canyon.”

“What, you’re not going to rub aloe vera on it?”

“Don’t be silly. That’s only if you’re shot in the foot.”


	6. Caboose

A stack of cans by his side, Simmons methodically set them inside the pantry. He organized them first by category, starting with beans and working his way to soups. Within each category he then sorted by expiration date, putting the food that would spoil early first.

“Leave the crate alone, Grif.”

His outstretched hand freezing just above the lid, Grif sent a startled look at Simmons, who hadn’t even turned his head. “How’d you know?”

“You don’t exactly step lightly,” said Simmons with a snort.  

“Shut up.” Crossing his arms moodily over his chest, Grif lowered to sit in one of the wooden chairs. “He’s not going to miss one snack cake.”

“By one you mean…?”

“One dozen. Which equals one box. He’s not going to miss one box of snack cakes.”

Rolling his eyes, Simmons said, “It’s Caboose’s food, Grif. With the Blues out of Command’s system, there’s no one to send him food. Which means we have to share. I know you don’t understand what the word means—”

“I know what it means, I just don’t like doing it,” countered Grif. “And whose fault is it that the Blues were erased from the records?”

“Sarge,” answered Simmons promptly.

“Like you put up a fight,” said Grif with a scoff.

“It seemed like a good idea. At the time.” Sticking the last can on the shelf, Simmons stood up, grunting slightly as his knees creaked from unfurling from the prolonged crouching position. “I’ll go bring this to Caboose. Want to come?”

“Sure. And on my way home I’ll get ‘lost’ and come back hours later, avoiding any and all work Sarge wants me to do.”

Simmons hefted the crate and tucked it under his arm. When they stepped out of the base, they were greeted with Sarge trying and failing to put out a fire flickering from their jeep. “Grif! Simmons! Get me a fire extinguisher, on the double!” barked Sarge, backing up as the flames started to grow larger.

“Uh…I don’t think—” began Simmons.

_Pwosh!_

There was a great roar as the fire reached the gas tank, causing the vehicle to explode. The trio ducked to avoid getting struck by the metal bits and Grif let out a grunt as a tire slammed into him. “Ouch!” he wheezed. “Why me?”

“Dagnabbit! I said double time, men!”

“No time would have been fast enough to save this thing,” said Simmons, gingerly kicking the warped exhaust pipe out of his path. “How long was it burning for?”

“I dunno, five minutes?”

“Why didn’t you get the fire extinguisher yourself?” asked Grif in annoyance, shoving the tire off of him and staggering to his feet.

“I didn’t know where it was.”

“Does no one listen to my emergency preparedness meetings?” cried Simmons.

“Like I said before, I fall asleep in my helmet whenever we have staff meetings,” returned Grif. He went over to the crate, which Simmons had flung aside in his haste to get to the ground. It was slightly scorched but otherwise intact. “Good news. The food survived. We should celebrate with a snack cake.”

“Don’t touch Caboose’s food,” ordered Sarge, moving over to the heavily smoking jeep and inspecting it. “Simmons, we’re gonna need a socket wrench.”

“And several other tools,” muttered Simmons. “Sarge, I think we’re going to need replacement parts. I’m pretty sure half of a steering wheel isn’t going to cut it. I can make up a list of what we’re going to need.”

“Good idea! I’ll find a socket wrench.”

“Great,” drawled Grif. “While you two are playing mechanic, I’ll bring this food over to Caboose so he doesn’t, you know, starve.”

“Oh, right,” muttered Simmons, having forgotten his little errand in the eagerness of list-making. “I can do it—”

“No, no, I got it covered, I wouldn’t want to take any of your time away from Sarge.”

“Think you can make it without dying of hunger?” asked Sarge sarcastically.

“Eh. I’ll manage. Good luck. And if you run into trouble, call Lopez.”

“What do you know, a good idea,” said Sarge with a scoff. He started towards the base in search of his tools. “Looks like that’ll be it for the year.”

“I don’t know, I could probably sneak another one in,” Grif called after him.

“Doubtful!”

Shaking his head, Simmons gave Grif’s shoulder a light shove. “Seriously. Don’t eat his food.”

“I won’t! Geez. Just because I don’t have any willpower doesn’t mean I can’t control myself.”

“That’s exactly what it means, actually.”

“Whatever. See you later. If Sarge catches on fire it’s probably best to just leave him.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“Eh. I’m probably due for a shot to the knee anyway.”

Grif trekked his way across the canyon, the green grass rustling in the breeze. It was a definite change from the stifling atmosphere of Blood Gulch. It was more open, more peaceful, and there was definitely a lot more greenery.

Sloshing his way through the river, Grif approached Blue Base and stood in the entryway. “Caboose! I brought you food!” he hollered.

The Blue Base was an exact copy of Red Base so he already knew where the kitchen was located. He was halfway down the hallway when Caboose practically flew out of a back room, crying, “I am not working on a secret project!”

“Uh-huh,” said Grif, rolling his eyes. “That’s not suspicious at all. Lucky for you I don’t care what you’re working on.”

“Oh. Okay!”

Grif stepped into the kitchen and dropped the crate near the metal table. A cloud of dust rose from the resulting impact of wood falling against concrete and created dirty specks on his visor. “Caboose, when was the last time you cleaned this place?” snapped Grif, jerking off his helmet.

“What day is it today?”

“Tuesday.”

“Then never.”

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Grif set his helmet on the counter. He then knelt down and opened up the cupboard, where Simmons’ neat organization of cans remained mostly undisturbed, with only a few missing. Brow furrowing, Grif checked the fridge and freezer, only to find that a good portion of the food from the last drop-off was still there.

“Have you been eating?” asked Grif.

“Yes! Except sometimes I forget.”

Grif turned his head slightly to regard Caboose, who had also taken off his helmet. His face gleamed from sweat and oil and his long curly black hair was matted to his forehead and scalp with grease. He looked a little pale and exhausted, but his big brown eyes did not lose their happy sparkle.

“Okay, you are taking a break from whatever it is you’re doing,” declared Grif.

“Okay! I like spending time with friends. It’s nice to have someone other than myself to talk to.”

“Go grab a broom and a rag. While you clean the kitchen, I’ll sort through your food.”

Caboose blinked. “I do not know where that stuff is.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Grif led Caboose to the supply closet, where he took the broom and rag and lugged them back to the kitchen. As he started to sweep the floor, Grif knelt down and started going through the cans. He took out the ones that were expired and tossed them in the trash.

“You really should be more considerate,” he scolded, internally flinching with every food item he had to throw away. “Wasting food is the worst crime.”

Caboose looked at Grif with wide, nervous eyes. “I did not mean to break the law. Am I going to jail?”

“I’ll keep it between us this time.”

“Oh good,” said Caboose, sighing with relief. “I don’t think I’d make it in the slammer.”

“That makes two of us.”

After twenty minutes, the floor was clear of dust and dirt and all surfaces were wiped down. Caboose broke up the crate into pieces and put that along with the rest of the trash into the incinerator. “All done!” he exclaimed when he returned to the kitchen, where Grif was putting a pot on the stove.

“Good. Now go take a shower. You reek.”

“That is not very nice,” said Caboose with a pout.

“It’s true. Go. Don’t forget to wash your hair.”

“Are you going to go snooping?” asked Caboose suspiciously.

“Do I look like Simmons to you?” asked Grif with a snort. “No. Like I said, I don’t care.”

“Promise?” he pressed.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay!”

As Caboose went to take a shower, Grif opened up a can of beef stew and put it into the pot. He let it simmer for a bit as he went to check out the rest of the base. He avoided Caboose’s work area, honouring his promise, mostly looking into Caboose’s bedroom and the common area.

There was a severe lack of dirty clothes on the bedroom floor and Grif didn’t want to consider how long it had been since Caboose changed. He gathered the few shirts and socks and underwear there were and stuck them in the hamper.

“And people say I’m gross,” he muttered to himself.

He made Caboose’s bed and grabbed some clean clothes. He went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Caboose! Did you remember to take a change of clothes with you?”

“I did not!” Caboose called back over the rush of water.

“I’m coming in! Which means you stay behind the curtain!”

Grif put the clothes on the floor and snagged Caboose’s recent sweat-stained ones. He also tossed them in the hamper and returned to the kitchen, where the savory scent of beef and carrots and onions filled the space.

He stirred the stew for a few more minutes and tasted the broth. Deeming it hot enough, he turned off the fire and poured two portions. He set the two bowls on the table along with a couple bottles of water. Caboose came in a few minutes later, smelling sweetly of peaches and his freshly washed curls sticking out at all angles.

“I am clean!” declared Caboose. He spotted the soup on the table and he beamed. “You made me lunch!”

“Yeah, because who knows when you last ate?” scoffed Grif.

As he started to sit down, Caboose said, “Wait! You have to take off your armour.”

Pausing with one hand on the back of his chair, Grif raised a brow. “What?”

“It is a rule,” said Caboose importantly. “No armour when we are eating.”

“Uh…okay.”

He removed his armour and set it in the corner of the kitchen. He adjusted the sleeves of his burgundy shirt and eased into the chair. Caboose sat happily across from him, picking up his spoon and slurping noisily at the stew.

“This is really good!”

“Considering you haven’t properly eaten in who knows how long, I bet.” Taking a large bite of meat and carrots, Grif asked through the mouthful of food, “Is whatever your working on so important you forget to eat?”

“Yes,” said Caboose, an uncharacteristic note of seriousness in his voice.

“Oh.” Grif was honestly bewildered. He couldn’t begin to imagine the project Caboose was so focussed on, one that he wouldn’t tell anybody about. The guy usually couldn’t keep a secret to save his life but he was tight-lipped on this matter. “Well, I hope it goes well for you.”

“Thanks!” Cheer immediately flooding back to his features, Caboose said, “I only had a few fires today, so that is an improvement.”

“Er…good for you. We had one really big fire. Sarge blew up the jeep.”

“Ooh, so that’s what that boom was. I thought it was thunder. I don’t like thunder.”

Finishing his stew before Caboose, Grif stood and stretched his arms over his head. “That was a decent break. I wasted more time than I expected.” Glancing over at Caboose, he added, “I don’t want to keep coming over here to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. It may get me away from Sarge but this is a stupidly big canyon and it takes far too long to cross it. So here is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna eat three meals a day. You’re gonna shower every other day. You’re gonna keep this place clean. If you don’t, I’m taking your flag.”

Caboose’s spoon froze halfway towards his mouth, his eyes widening in horror. “Not the Blue flag!”

“Yes,” said Grif threateningly. “I’m going to do random checks. If this place is a mess or you’re a mess or dead, I’m taking the flag. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

Grif reached out and clapped Caboose’s right shoulder. Caboose jerked in his seat with a soft gasp of surprise. His own hand shot out, curling instinctively around Grif’s left bicep.

He immediately felt Caboose’s delight, which flared in his gut and spread through his chest. Serenity and contentment flowed within him, causing his limbs to sag with relaxation. He could smell rainwater, practically hear its gentle splatter against the earth.

_‘Yay! I knew it!’_

_‘You knew?’_ Grif thought in bewilderment.

_‘Uh-huh! I knew we were meant to be best friends!’_

He was so happy. Even as Grif searched through Caboose’s soul, finding an almost endless amount of memories where he was tormented by his peers in school and ridiculed during training in the army, all he could feel was happiness.

They separated when their souls finished bonding and Caboose immediately swept him up in a bear hug. “Now we will be together forever!”

“Great,” rasped Grif, his ribcage being crushed by Caboose’s abnormal strength. “Please put me down.”

Caboose complied, the ear-to-ear grin seemingly etched permanently into his face. An orange handprint formed over his shoulder and Grif peeked down at the dark blue mark that wrapped around his arm. “You said you knew,” he said, glancing over in curiosity. “How did you know I would be one of your soulmates?”

“Because I remembered!”

“Remembered what?”

“When I first got my Best Friend marks, I saw all the colours! There were two red ones and those belong to Sergeant and Simmons, so I knew that the orange one was you!”

His mind reeling at this piece of information, Grif asked in bafflement, “Wait, Sarge and Simmons?”

“Yup!” Caboose hiked up the hem of his blue sweater, proudly revealing the red handprint on his side. He then jerked up his pantleg, where a maroon handprint was curled around his ankle. “See!”

For a second, Grif was speechless. Simmons and Sarge never mentioned getting Caboose’s soulmarks. But he supposed they wouldn’t. They weren’t ones to brag about personal matters like soulmates, though he realized now if he bothered to ask they would have probably told him.  

“But how did you know the orange one was me?” he spoke at last. “It could have been anyone.”

“No,” said Caboose matter-of-factly. “It was you. We were all meant to be together. That’s why all of us were in Blood Gulch!”

Grif’s eyes widened. Caboose had caught on quicker than he, figuring out what Grif had been in denial about for far too long.

All of the colours on his skin matched the armour colour of those who had been in Blood Gulch. Simmons. Church. Donut. Doc. Kai. Now Caboose. He could picture the colours that were missing—red, cyan, aquamarine and grey.

_Sarge and Tucker…but who do the other two belong to?_

He wanted to ask Caboose if he was missing any soulmarks, but refrained. It was improper to inquire about soulmarks that may not have filled in yet. He didn’t make a point to follow societal rules but in the case of soulmarks he made an exception.

“I guess so,” he muttered, almost in awe. Caboose beamed at him, pure joy rushing through their soul-link, so strong it made Grif sway slightly on his feet. “Geez, Caboose, tone it down a bit.”

“Right.” Slightly sheepish, Caboose tried to reign in his emotions. “Simmons says my feelings can be too powerful.”

“Just a bit. But I’ll get used to it.”

“Do you have to go?” asked Caboose, pout forming on his features.

The hope in his eyes was impossible to refuse. For all the efforts the Reds made to visit him, Caboose spent a lot of time alone. He had refused Sarge’s offer to stay at Red Base until Tucker somehow straggled his way to them, a benevolent gesture Grif was baffled by but now understood.

“No, I don’t,” replied Grif.

“We can play a game!”

“Not Monopoly,” said Grif firmly.

“I never understood that game,” mused Caboose.

They ended up playing Candyland, which they discovered buried in the closet. The pieces, cards and board were worn beyond belief but still miraculously intact despite being a centuries-old relic. It was difficult to maneuver the game pieces with just one hand, since Caboose seemed more than happy to keep his hand against Grif’s bicep. The Red soldier’s hand was settled against Caboose’s shoulder, eyes half-closed with contentment.

_‘Hey, Caboose?’_

_‘Yes?’_

_‘We should crack open a box of snack cakes.’_


	7. Lopez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is a prime example of my self-indulgence. I couldn't leave Lopez out. 
> 
> Bolded text is Lopez speaking Spanish, but written in English so you, dear reader, can understand what he's saying.

After a series of chaotic events that ended with Tex stealing a ship that was blown up by Andy, Grif dragged himself to his bunk and collapsed into the pillows. He could distantly make out the sounds of Sarge tinkering with tools and metal as he affixed Lopez’s head to another body. He tuned out the background noise and fell asleep.

His slumber didn’t last long, for his peaceful darkness was disturbed by a prickly tingling in his collarbone. Jolting awake, Grif fumbled around in disorientation. His hand smacked into his nightstand, eliciting a curse. He managed to hit the switch on his lamp and a soft glow of light illuminated his room.

Blinking furiously to try and clear the fog from his vision, Grif jerked down his sleep shirt to stare at the spot. But he had been too slow and the tingling was gone. He felt like he was experiencing déjà vu, transported back to when he had acquired Church’s soulmark.

Utterly bewildered Grif checked his shoulder, where the blue handprint stood out brightly against his dark skin. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to see if it was still there, but it was comforting nonetheless. He looked once more at his collarbone, trying in vain to imagine what soulmark could have possibly appeared.

Fatigue still weighing his bones down, he gave a half shrug and fell back against the pillows, where he fell into a dead sleep once more.

When he woke up the next morning, he struggled to determine whether he had been dreaming or if it had actually happened. Choosing to not look like a lunatic in case he was mistaken, he kept quiet. So did the others, especially the ones who had managed to witness the new soulmark bloom onto their skin.

After all, claiming that you had a string of numbers as a soulmark was basically a one-way ticket to the insane asylum.

…

His metal feet clanking against the concrete floor, Lopez reached Grif’s bedroom. Without bothering to knock he jerked open the door, ire coursing within him at the sight of Grif bundled beneath his blankets. **“Wake up, idiot. Or don’t. Sarge gave me permission to shoot if you’re not up within three minutes.”**

He didn’t receive a response, not that he expected one. Already envisioning the possible places to shoot Grif, one that would cause severe pain but not kill, Lopez approached the bed. He grabbed the corner of the dark red wool blanket and yanked it down. His finger paused over the trigger of his gun as he caught sight of Grif’s condition. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin and his brow was furrowed in discomfort. He was shivering even though the canyon was always hot and the base’s air conditioning was barely functional.

With his source of warmth suddenly gone, Grif half opened his eyes, which were bloodshot, and groped out with his fingers. “It’s freaking cold,” he complained, teeth chattering as he spoke. “Does nobody turn on the heat in this place?”

Lopez activated his scanner and took a minute to get a reading on Grif’s vitals. His temperature was above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. **“Damn it,”** he muttered.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. Grif had bundled himself back up in his blankets and he squinted when Lopez approached him. “Is this to kill me?” he asked suspiciously when the robot extended the medicine towards him.

**“No. I’d be more creative than this. And there’d be disembowelment involved.”**

Only understanding the ‘no’, Grif tiredly washed down the pill. “I mean, I wouldn’t argue death. You can’t feel like crap if you’re dead, right?” Collapsing back against his pillow, Grif felt his bones ache and his stomach twist with nausea. “I can’t believe there’s still not a cure for the common cold.”

**“You humans tend to have your priorities skewed.”**

Though he had no clue as to what Lopez said, his response was surprisingly fitting. “I know, what’s taking them so long?” Scrubbing his hands down his face, Grif asked, “Wait, did you come here to play nurse or did Sarge send you to keelhaul me?”

**“Keelhaul. And I’m not playing nurse. Don’t be insulting.”**

“Well, considering I don’t have a gunshot wound anywhere, I guess you’re here to help. Thanks. But I just have to sleep it off. I’ll see you in a few hours, fit as rain.”

**“You weren’t fit to begin with,”** said Lopez dryly.

Grif flipped over in his bed so he was facing the wall and at what Lopez considered to be rather an impressive speed, he fell asleep. Shaking his head, Lopez departed to give a report to Sarge, which was like pulling teeth. But eventually Sarge grasped that Grif was not well. Ten minutes after being informed of this he made an excuse of needing to check something in the base and rushed off.

Lopez merely scoffed in disbelief, knowing very well Sarge was going to check on his ill subordinate. The members of his squad were important to him. It was amusing how he often tried to pretend otherwise. Lopez tinkered with yet another vehicle the morons seemed to enjoy destroying while he waited. Sarge returned not long after, the rough texture gone from his voice as the concern over Grif’s well-being eased.

“Probably got sick from eating all the junk he eats,” muttered Sarge, lingering over Lopez’s shoulder. “Boy needs more vitamins. Wonder if he even knows what a fruit is.”

Lopez made a noise of acknowledgement to signify he was listening before asking, **“Simmons?”**

“Simmons is helping out Caboose. Kid got his head stuck in the freezer.” When Lopez froze in his work to stare at him, Sarge shrugged. “Hell if I know. If I want to keep sane I try not to question why Caboose does what does.”

**“I wouldn’t call you sane.”**

“Exactly!”

Mentally snickering that Sarge had unknowingly confirmed himself to be insane, Lopez finished fixing the jeep. Sarge immediately went to work on modifying the radio, which would inevitably break something, but Lopez let him be. Auto maintenance was soothing and _his_ way of keeping sane. Besides, even he tried to protest, it wasn’t like Sarge understood what he was saying.

A few hours of busywork passed and Lopez found himself compelled to check on Grif, so he wandered back into the base. He slid open Grif’s door only to find the bed vacant. Letting out a puzzled hum he backtracked into the hall and heightened his hearing levels.

He ignored Sarge’s swearing, which was coming from outside the base, and focussed on the retching. Lopez went to the location the sound was emitting from and paused in front of the bathroom. He slid open the door and found Grif hunched over the toilet, wiping bile from his mouth.

“Hey, ever hear of knocking?” snapped Grif, his lethargy making it difficult to put heat into the words.

**“That’s disgusting.”**

Lopez jerked Grif to his feet by tugging on the loose fabric of his pajama shirt. Grif stumbled over to the sink to wash his face and brush his teeth. Lopez followed after him as he shuffled down the hall and back to his bedroom. Grif fell into bed, the mattress sagging from his weight, and grabbed the aspirin bottle.

“I feel like crap,” he groaned, swallowing his second pill of the day with the remainder of the water in his glass.

**“You look like it.”**

Lopez abruptly left and Grif raised a quizzical eyebrow. Giving a shrug, he hugged a pillow to his side and closed his eyes. He didn’t get the chance to fall asleep for what would be the third time, as Lopez returned shortly with a steaming bowl in his hands.

“You made me soup?” asked Grif incredulously.

**“What about it?”** asked Lopez defensively.

Grif accepted the bowl, which was hot against his fingers, and took a sip. The warmth immediately flowed through his body and he let out a sigh of contentment. The tomato flavour rolled pleasantly across his tongue. Cocking his head to the side, Grif regarded Lopez. “Thanks. Seriously.”

**“It’ll save me from hearing you whine for the next few days.”**

Grif downed the soup quickly despite its searing heat. Setting the bowl on his nightstand table, Grif rubbed at his temples. The fast-acting aspirin was helping with the headache, the pain now dulled and barely noticeable. “Guess I better take my temperature. Probably should have done that earlier.”

As he started to get up, Lopez stated, **“Your temperature is still at one hundred degrees.”**

He reached out and set a hand against Grif’s collarbone to keep him from moving. A startled yelp left Grif’s lips as his soul jerked. The oddly pleasant scent of motor oil filled his nostrils. As Church’s soul had the unique characteristic of blanketing him with a snowy cold, Lopez’s soul felt like fuzzy electricity crackling through his chest. Intrigue flashed through him, followed quickly by satisfaction and fondness.

He instinctively reached out and placed his hand on the underside of Lopez’s right wrist. _‘Lopez?’_

_‘Yes?’_

The shock of hearing Lopez speak English very nearly caused him to reel away. _‘Lopez, when did you learn English? Because I sure as hell didn’t learn Spanish.’_

_‘I didn’t. In the soul-realm, I seem to be able to communicate in English if I wish.’_

_‘Are you dead too?’_

There was a beat of silence and Grif felt a surge of confusion before Lopez figured out what he meant. _‘No. I’m not dead. Or inhabited by an A.I.’_

_‘You’re a robot.’_

_‘Yes.’_

Grif struggled to wrap his mind around this phenomenon that shouldn’t be occurring in the first place. He couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to bond with a computer program _and_ a robot when they didn’t have souls or physical bodies. _‘This doesn’t make sense.’_

_‘No kidding.’_

_‘How is this possible?’_

_‘I don’t know why you’re asking me.’_

Lopez was amused by his disbelief. The affection bubbled through and Grif focussed on it, letting it wash over him and dispel his frantic, perplexed thoughts. Lopez could feel Grif’s happiness beneath his shock, a strong warm feeling that spread through him.

There was a click as their souls finished connecting. Grif slowly let go and Lopez lifted his hand off of Grif’s collarbone. He peeked down at the eleven-digit serial code, the brown numbers imprinted into his skin. He read the numbers silently—01011348823. He had a flashback to that hazy moment in the dark of the night over a year ago when the spot had numbed for a brief moment.

Utterly bewildered, Grif took Lopez’s hand. The robot stayed still, letting Grif angle his arm so he could stare the orange code. “How come it’s not a handprint?”

Lopez shifted his free hand to settle over his soulmark on Grif so he could communicate through their soul-bond. _‘I don’t know. I suppose Church could give and receive handprints because he was based off a real person and had inhabited a human body, however short a time. But that’s merely a theory.’_

“It still explains jack-all.”

_‘Do you have a better explanation, asshole?’_

Unable to stop the grin from splitting across his face, Grif laughed and asked, “Have you been insulting us all this time without us knowing?”

_‘Yes.’_

“Typical. Aren’t robots supposed to be all about serving their masters?”

Lopez let out a disbelieving scoff. _‘I don’t know what it is with you people, but somehow any computer program or technology that comes within your grasp seems to evolve beyond their intended purpose. I wasn’t supposed to develop a personality and I’m not supposed to feel. But somehow I do.’_

“We’re all a bunch of outcasts here. You fit right in.” Tilting his head to the side, Grif asked curiously, “Has this happened to anyone else?”

Lopez briefly lifted up his left arm, where a blue binary code snaked along the underside of his wrist and a yellow code ran along his bicep. “So…does Sarge know?” asked Grif slowly.

_‘No. And I’ll kill you if you tell him. The look on his face is going to be priceless.’_

“How do you know you have his soulmark?”

_‘Who else would the red mark belong to?’_ asked Lopez flatly.

“Right.” Studying the coloured codes thoughtfully, he asked, “Sarge was there when you were activated. He didn’t see the soulmarks appear?”

_‘It took a while for me to boot up. He was gone when I activated. I didn’t know what they represented until much later. Figures I’d have a bunch of morons as my soulmates.’_

Grif pulled a face. “Church said the same thing.”

_‘Well, I don’t blame him. We were created to be the highest forms of technology. And we get saddled with you all.’_

“You know, I think I liked it better when I didn’t understand what you were saying,” said Grif sourly.

_‘Speaking of which, I have some crap to talk to you about.’_

Pulling away from Lopez’s touch, Grif rolled over and buried his head in his pillow. “I’m sorry, I’m busy at the moment,” he said with a yawn.

**“Jerk.”**

His affection flowed through their soul-link and Grif grinned. “Lopez?”

**“Yes?”**

“We are one messed up group of people.”

**“Yes. Yes we are.”**

****


	8. Sarge

Their jeep held together a lot longer than Grif expected—it lugged them halfway across the desert before the front bumper fell off, the front hood inexplicable shot into the air and landed a distance away, thick black smoke curling after it. With no tools to give the vehicle a jump-start, Simmons, Sarge and Grif continued the journey on foot.

After about an hour of walking, Grif found himself struggling with each step. Sarge and Simmons were ahead of him and Sarge glanced over his shoulder. “Grif, pick up the pace! Your lazy ass is slowing us down!”

“I’m trying!”

His attempt at a shout came out as a rasp instead. Sweat clung to his body and he could feel it dripping down his back. His breathing came in hard pants, his lungs and throat feeling as if they were on fire. Even though they were stuck in the desert with no water, his cooling unit should have been enough to keep him steady.

Grif tried to focus on the cold air emitting from inside his armour, only to find that there was nothing. His brow furrowed in confusion. The heat was intense but not enough that he shouldn’t have been able to feel the armour’s internal air.

His eyes flicked to the small green message that had been flashing in the right corner of his helmet for almost half an hour.

**_Cooling unit damaged. Repairs need immediately._ **

Oh.

“Sarge!” he shouted, this time succeeding in getting his voice to travel ahead and reach his companions.

“Damn it Grif, if I have to hear you complain one more time—”

“My cooling unit is busted!”

With that said, the exhaustion won over and he collapsed to the sand, body sprawling out limply. Upon seeing Grif buckle to the ground Sarge cursed. He and Simmons rushed over and Simmons used his helmet to take a scan of Grif’s equipment.

“Yeah, his cooling unit is definitely busted.”

“Fix it,” said Sarge shortly.

Though Simmons had zero tools to the do the job he didn’t protest. He helped Sarge take Grif’s armour off and lugged it a few feet away so he had space to do his work. He took apart the compartment that contained the cooling unit and started to fiddle with the red and green wires, trying to see if he could jolt it back into action.

Grif’s clothes were completely matted to his body with sweat. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” snapped Sarge.

“Didn’t know,” muttered Grif, the world beginning to blur in front of him, brown and blue melding together. A thousand jackhammers pounded against his skull and his eyes started to close.

Catching this, Sarge reached out to grab Grif’s chin. His eyes snapped open and he yelped with pain, Sarge’s armour burning against his bare skin. “Ouch!”

“Oops. Right.” Sarge removed his gauntlets and cast them aside in the sand. “I know this will be very difficult for you, but you are going to stay awake.”

“But I’m hot and tired and dying,” whined Grif, struggling to remain conscious.

“Don’t care.”

His hands now exposed, Sarge gripped Grif’s chin and lifted it so they were forced to make eye-contact. A rush of subtle concern broke through the fog in his brain and the stale air of the desert was replaced with barbecue sauce and ribs. Though his mind couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening his soul reacted immediately. Spurred by instinct Grif groggily reached out and clung to Sarge’s forearm. Despite the metal singeing his skin he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Sarge jerked back, Grif’s hand ripped forcibly from his armour. He stared at the red handprint that formed, curling under Grif’s chin. “Huh. So that’s where it is,” he mused.

“You’re hogging all the barbecue sauce,” Grif grumbled. The world spun around him but his soul remained steady, beginning to throb as the connection remained unfished.

When Grif reached out again Sarge clicked his tongue and started to remove the plating from his right arm. “You don’t even know what’s happenin’, do ya?” he asked in amusement.

With the armour completely off of his arm Sarge held it out, which Grif immediately latched onto. Sarge grunted at the force of the surge in his soul. He placed his hand against Grif’s chin and their souls began bonding.

Satisfaction and pride charged through Grif. Sarge was happy, genuinely happy, to have _him_ as a soulmate. Amongst the scents of barbecue sauce and ribs was smoke. He was like a force that could command and destroy, a forest fire that burned bright and powerful. It was soothing and Grif couldn’t help but feel his eyes drift shut.

_‘Keep ‘em open.’_

_‘It’s hard. I’m tired. And hungry.’_

_‘I fail to see how that’s different from any other day.’_

_‘I seriously think I’m dying.’_

_‘We’re in the desert with no water and you have no means to cool yourself down. You probably are.’_

Sarge seemed unconcerned with his possible death, but while that wasn’t unusual, Grif could feel it in their soul connection that Sarge believed he would survive. And he was rather unbothered by this.

There was a click as their souls finished bonding and a few seconds later Simmons called, “Done!”

“Perfect timing as usual, Simmons!” returned Sarge.

He let go of Grif’s chin and stood up as Simmons approached them with Grif’s repaired armour. Simmons’ eyes immediately locked on the brand-new red mark on Grif’s face and a wide smile spread across his lips. Though Sarge couldn’t see his glee behind his visor, he felt it through their soul-link and it gave him a decent visual of Simmons’ expression.

Sarge rolled his eyes and said gruffly, “Get that dumb look off your face, Simmons.”

“Yes sir!”

Grif was too disoriented to put on the armour himself so Sarge assisted him. The Hawaiian native was instantly greeted by a rush of cold air from his armour and he let out a sigh of relief. Satisfied that Grif would be fine, Simmons helped him to his feet.

“All right men, let’s keep moving. We still got a ways to go before we meet up with the Blues.”

It took a while for Grif’s movements to become sure and stable and for the world to return to its clear state. The striking realization that he soul-bonded with _Sarge_ while he was suffering from heat exhaustion caused him to screech to a shocked halt. He wrenched off his helmet and held it out, staring at his reflection in his visor.

Sarge slowed his pace, shooting an attentive glance at Grif over his shoulder. Simmons continued forwards. Though he knew Sarge and Grif wouldn’t care if he hung back, this was a conversation they ought to have alone. Each soul connection was unique, after all, and it was important to have a moment after the bonding process.

“But—I thought—why—”

Grif was unable to form his racing thoughts into words. His tongue fumbled with each syllable he tried to articulate. Sarge crossed his arms over his chest and said dryly, “I know ya failed English, but try to make an effort.”

“Shut up,” answered Grif automatically to the insult. “I didn’t fail English, it just took me a few tries. And you are not one to diss my communication skills.”

“Fair point,” conceded Sarge. “So, you gonna try to finish that sentence?”

Finally tearing his gaze from his yellow-tinted reflection, Grif glanced warily at him. “I think you already know.”

“Then you already know the answer, numbnuts.”

Sarge had felt the uncertainty in Grif’s soul, his confusion, the belief that Sarge despised him. And while you didn’t have to like your soulmates, Grif could not deny the love that had flowed through him. Their relationship was rocky and strange and built on an exchange of insults, but there had never been any hatred.  

Feeling heat build behind his dark eyes Grif hastily jerked on his helmet, refusing to let Sarge see his eyes glaze over with happy tears. After realizing Caboose had Sarge’s soulmark, he knew his own red handprint belonged to him as well. But he didn’t think Sarge would ever be so happy about it. He’d only ever had one adult male figure in his life and that had been a disaster. He didn’t expect this relationship to be any different.

Coughing to clear the lump from his throat, Grif asked, “Why now? Why didn’t it happen during my surgery?”

Sarge’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Don’t know. Soulmarks happen when they’re meant to happen. Nothin’ else about it.”

Smirking, Grif asked, “Should I be offended Caboose got his before me?”

Letting out a snort, Sarge said, “Like I said, nothin’ else about it. Are ya done bein’ emotional?”

“I wasn’t emotional, I was confused,” said Grif with a huff.

Knowing that was a lie, Sarge only said, “Uh-huh. Sure. Get your butt in gear. Who knows what those dirty Blues have gotten up to with no supervision?”

The two continued their trek, Simmons a maroon dot against the horizon. Grif’s soul wouldn’t stop humming, his delight at being soul-bonded with Sarge and Sarge wanting him as a soulmate difficult to repress.

“Your father is a yellow-bellied good for nothin’ heap of junk.”

“What?” said Grif, startled.

Raising a brow at the shock in the boy’s voice, Sarge said, “Everything is out in the open in the soul-realm.”

“No, I know. It’s just—” Giving his head a sharp shake, Grif recovered from the unexpected remark. “Yeah. Yeah he is. I hate him.”

The constant smell of alcohol. The hard strikes to the side of his face. Hunkering in the closet, Kai clutched close to his chest, as they avoided one of his rages. The memories that usually remained buried glimmered to the surface, discoloured and blurry snapshots of a childhood he’d prefer to forget.

“You didn’t deserve it. Neither did your sister.”

“I know. But thanks.” The brief moment of melancholy was dispelled, for Sarge’s effort to offer comfort despite his usual desire to avoid emotional conversations meant everything. “I’m sorry you went so long without soulmates.”

“Not your fault,” replied Sarge.

“I know. But it sucks. I thought I had it bad. But you went decades. And it didn’t even bother you. Not even the taunts.”

Tilting his head, Sarge said thoughtfully, “I suppose I never really considered soulmarks and soulmates a priority. I wanted to go to war. Ain’t time for that sentimental mush in the war. But I knew I had them. Soulmarks don’t appear for no reason. I just had to wait. Took a lot longer than I expected but I suppose it worked out.”

“You clearly have time for sentimental mush now,” said Grif teasingly.

“Like hell I do,” said Sarge gruffly.

“Whatever. But at least tell me your reaction when you soul-bonded with your first Blue. Was it Caboose or Church? Dear Lord, I hope it was Caboose.”

Sarge shoved Grif’s shoulder hard, his helmet keeping his smile hidden from view but his fond affection flowed freely through their soul-link. “None of your business, dirtbag.”

“Just wait until we’re soul-bonding. I’ll get the answer. Can’t lie in the soul.”

“What did I say about sentimental mush?”

“Oh please,” said Grif with a dismissive scoff. “You don’t mind it. You put up with Donut. And Simmons.”

“Someone’s gotta watch over you morons,” replied Sarge. His voice was nonchalant but Grif felt the rush of protectiveness, which only caused his grin to grow.

Sarge had spent enough of his life without soulmates. Simmons, Donut, Grif and the Blues shared that pain. He’d be darned if anyone was going to take them away from him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was definitely my favourite chapter to write.


	9. Tucker

Trudging down the corridor, Tucker half-heartedly acknowledged the enthusiastic greetings of New Republic soldiers as they scurried past him. He reached the barracks and went to the very back of the building, where the room he shared with Grif, Caboose and Simmons was located. Having their own private space was one of the only bright sides he could see since being forcefully enlisted in Chorus’ civil war.

The second he stepped foot in his room Tucker yanked off his helmet and tossed it on his bed. He took off his armour, wrinkling his nose at the sweat stains marking his long-sleeved shirt. The thought of a shower was enticing but he couldn’t find the strength in his exhausted bones to traverse to the shared shower stalls. Simmons would probably throw a fit if he went there during the day anyhow. He was insistent on keeping their soulmarks hidden. They were on a foreign planet in the middle of a warzone and anyone could try to use their marks against them.

Tucker didn’t see the point in the secrecy. After all, Caboose had figured out they were soulmates even before getting most of their marks. If he could connect the dots, it wasn’t going to be hard for anyone else to do so. And Lopez having his metallic body covered in coloured serial codes was already a dead give-away, as far as he was concerned.

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. He stared at the colours that littered his body, heart falling as his eyes moved over pink, purple, red, grey and brown. Between constantly training with his squad, dwelling over the imprisonment of Sarge, Donut, Lopez and Washington and internally freaking out over where exactly the teleportation grenades had sent Doc, he wasn’t getting much sleep.

The door slid open but before Tucker could move to see who it was, a hand suddenly clamped over his eyes. Tucker would have been slightly alarmed if he wasn’t immediately flooded with feelings of comfort and the soothing scent of rainwater. He instinctively set his hand against his soulmark on his captor’s wrist.

_‘Guess who!’_

_‘Caboose.’_

_‘How did you know?’_

Amused by Caboose’s shock, Tucker replied, _‘Kind of doesn’t work when you ask that question during a soul-bond, dude.’_

_‘Rats.’_

Though Caboose was emotionally fragile, he handled the emotions of his soulmates really well. He met Tucker’s sadness and frustration with unwavering reassurance. He believed they would get the others back soon and once they were together they would find Doc and go home.

Stepping away, Tucker sighed and said, “I know. It just sucks. We’re supposed to be captains and we can’t run a squad for crap.”

“We will get better,” said Caboose confidently. “Practice makes perfect.”

Tucker glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow at the turtleneck and jeans Caboose sported. “What exactly happened to your armour?”

“It broke,” said Caboose with a shrug. “Mechanic man is fixing it now. My helmet screen is fuzzy and gives me a headache.”

“Well, at least you remembered to keep your marks covered,” said Tucker.

Caboose pouted. “I don’t like that part.”

“Don’t complain to me. Complain to Simmons.”

“I have to wear winter shirts. They are very hot.” Caboose yanked off his turtleneck and went to get a thinner, shorter-sleeved shirt. A flash of orange caught Tucker’s attention and he stared at Grif’s handprint curling over Caboose’s shoulder.

There was a sharp pang in his chest. Tucker was very much aware of the unfilled mark on his own shoulder. Huffing out a breath, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t get it.”

“Me either.” Wrestling into a light blue T-shirt, Caboose popped his head through the neck hole and asked, “What don’t we get?”

“Why haven’t Grif and I soul-bonded yet?”

“It isn’t time,” answered Caboose simply.

Tucker wanted to argue with that, but had to admit that Caboose had a point, which he strangely always did when it came to the matter of soulmates. He and Grif had opportunities to soul-bond in the past but it just didn’t happen. That pull, that instinct, to reach out and place his hand against Grif hadn’t occurred. And it was driving Tucker crazy.

“It’s been years, though! I got Wash’s mark a few weeks after he joined up with us.”

“That’s because it was time.”

“Yeah, time, fate and all that. I get it.” Tucker rolled his eyes. “Still sucks.”

The door clanged open, causing the two Blues to jump. Simmons and Grif entered, arguing as they usually were.

“For the last time, I did follow the signal!” snapped Grif, yanking off his helmet. Irritation creased his forehead as he glared at Simmons.

“That wasn’t the signal, Grif! When did I say cocking my gun equaled the signal?”

“Rough day?” asked Tucker dryly.

“Tell me about it,” grumbled Grif, beginning to take off his armour.

Simmons eyes locked onto the aquamarine plating piled on the floor and a burst of panic went through his chest at the missing blue-coloured equipment. “Caboose, what happened to your armour?” At the exposed soulmarks, he asked in horror, “You didn’t go out like that, did you?”

“No. I had a sweater on. My armour broke so a nice man with one eye is fixing it. He’s kind of scary.”

“You have to be more careful Caboose,” said Simmons in exasperation. “You should have asked for replacement armour.”

“But I didn’t want someone else’s armour. I want my own.”

“You can’t walk around in civilian clothes, Caboose. We’re in a warzone. What if a sniper tried to take a shot?”

“I…I did not think about snipers,” said Caboose with a slow blink.

“Well, you have to! You have to think about these things, Caboose. A stupid decision means you could be killed.”

When Caboose shrunk back, Tucker whirled to glare at Simmons. “Lay off. It’s not like he charged into gunfire without protection. He took a walk through the base.”

“Which is still full of people we don’t know,” said Simmons tightly. “The rule is when we leave this room, we have our armour on at all times.”

“I don’t like that rule,” said Caboose sadly. “I want to show people my Best Friend marks.”

“You can’t,” said Simmons shortly.

“Dude, chill out,” cut in Grif.

“Chill out? I can’t chill out! We’re trying to train our own squads in order to rescue the others and no one is taking it seriously!”

“Screw you, I’m taking it very seriously!” said Tucker sharply. “I’ve been running drills with these guys for hours while you two sat on your asses all day because you can’t stop arguing!”

“Don’t act high and mighty. Not when you don’t have anything to show for it. If we want to save Sarge and the rest—”

“Don’t,” snarled Tucker, getting into Simmons’ face, “say if. It’s when. And I’m sick of you and your rules. Take showers during dinner hour. Abide by curfew. Keep running the maneuvers until we get them right. Wear your armour out at all times. I spent years waiting for my soulmarks. I’m not keeping them hidden now.”

“And what will happen if someone makes the connection between the colours of your soulmarks to the colours of our armour?” demanded Simmons.

“These guys are on our side! They need us to win their war! Why would they turn against us?”

“Do the words betrayal and double-agent not exist in your vocabulary? We don’t know these people, Tucker.”

“Simmons is right, as much as it pains me to say it,” said Grif. “Maybe it’s not the best idea to flaunt our soulmarks in unknown territory.”

“Oh, like damage hasn’t already been done,” said Tucker bitterly. “You already lost Doc.”

There was a stricken silence as Grif reeled backwards out of shock. Simmons stormed over and loomed over Tucker. “Apologize,” he growled.

Tucker kept his posture straight and defiant. Simmons’ anger burned through him but it was Grif’s hurt that practically pierced his heart. Caboose observed them with wide, worried eyes. “Get out of my way,” Tucker said at last, shoving him aside. “You think you’re a leader. You sure like to act like one. But you sure have done jack all.”

He grabbed his discarded shirt and wrestled it on as he left the room, slamming the door so hard it shook in its frame. Simmons’ anger dissolved instantly after he left, transforming into dismay. He sunk to the floor, rubbing at his face as a headache started to build in his temples.

“Great job, Simmons,” he muttered. “Grif, you okay?”

“Fine,” Grif said tonelessly. “He’s not wrong.”

“He did not mean it,” said Caboose earnestly. “He is just very sad.”

“So are we, Caboose,” said Simmons tiredly. “So are we. I better go find him.”

“I’ll do it,” offered Grif.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea—" began Simmons.

“Why not?” asked Grif with a raised brow. “Better me than you. Least he’s not likely to bite my head off.”

Simmons flinched back at that. “Well…what about you?”

“Like I said. He’s not wrong.” Trying to keep lump in this throat from growing any bigger, he kept a stiff smile on his features as he turned to Caboose. “Cheer him up Caboose.”

“Okay!”

As Grif started out of the room, Simmons started, “Grif, you’re—”

“Dude, not the time,” returned Grif curtly before letting the door clang shut behind him.

He started down the corridor, mentally running through the places Tucker would have gone to cool off. They hadn’t been at the base for too long to know the ins and outs. Partly to appease Simmons and partly because he was paranoid, Grif jerked up the collar of his shirt to cover Sarge’s soulmark that wrapped around his chin. He wrestled both hands into his long sleeves to keep Donut’s and Kai’s marks from showing.

The hurt that swelled in his chest was almost unbearable but he managed to keep it contained. There was enough negativity channeling through their soul-links. He didn’t need to add on to it. But the thought of Doc, lost somewhere, waiting for them to find him…

He jolted slightly at the sudden rush of exasperation and affection from Doc. Though it was his fault Doc had been swept away by the teleportation grenades, Doc held no ill-will towards him. They couldn’t communicate with words but feelings were just as powerful. Grif couldn’t stop the regret, but he knew it wasn’t as strong, wasn’t as prickly. He was forgiving himself, bit by bit, and Doc’s satisfaction seeped through at the slow healing process.

Giving his head a slight shake, Grif focussed on the present, letting Doc’s optimism distract him from Simmons’ distress and the concern from the others.

He stopped the first solider he came upon and asked, “Have you seen Tucker?”

“Captain Tucker passed by a few minutes ago,” she confirmed. To her credit, she kept a straight face even though he probably looked like a lunatic with his shirt yanked up to his mouth. “He was heading for the mess hall.”

“Tch. Should have thought of that myself,” grumbled Grif. Food was a universal cure for grief and heartbreak, after all.

He twisted down the corridors to the mess hall. He found Tucker at a metal table in the very back of the empty rectangular room, shoulders hunched forwards. He tensed when the doors creaked open and peeked over his shoulder. He immediately turned back around at the sight of Grif.

Grif went to take a seat beside him, propping a hand against his cheek. “You know, the point of hiding out in the mess hall is to stuff your face with grease, sugar and salt.”

Tucker let out a short laugh. “Tried. But rations are a thing here. Nothing good to eat anyway. I’d kill for chocolate ice-cream.”

“Damn, me too,” sighed Grif longingly.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, Tucker said tiredly, “You should be punching me in the face right about now.”

“I should,” agreed Grif. “That was a dick move. But you’re right. I was careless. I lost Doc. I’m the reason he’s not here right now.”

“We’ll find him. I know we’ll find him.” Tucker let his hands fall against the table, bitterness on his face. “The universe sure likes tearing us apart and flinging us back together.” Glancing over at Grif, he said remorsefully, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t really mean it.”

“It’s okay,” said Grif with a shrug. “We’re all pretty messed up right now.”

“I just want to get the others and get the hell out of here. Why can’t we train these soldiers?”

Grif grinned. “Dude, it’s hard to train soldiers when we’re the worst ones in the galaxy.”

Brow furrowing slightly, Tucker muttered thoughtfully, “Yeah…I guess.”

“But we’ll figure it out. We don’t have a choice.”

“I know.” Letting out a heavy breath, Tucker stood. “I guess we better get back. Simmons is probably losing his mind.”

“Probably,” agreed Grif with a smirk. “We did step outside our room without armour. That’s like, a crime worthy of the death penalty.”

He reached out to clap Tucker’s shoulder and Tucker froze at the fierce charge that surged through his soul. His hand moved of its own accord, pressing against Grif’s right side as their souls mingled together. Grif’s breath caught in his throat at the intensity of the emotions that swelled within him.

Though regret still lingered, his exuberance was stronger. The emptiness of the unfilled mark was gone, replaced with Grif’s emotions and solid connection to his soul. Grif was awash with the scent of strawberries and spices, homecooked macaroni and cheese and tuna casserole. It was the sensations of comfort food and a warm environment that cloaked around him, making him feel secure and safe.

_‘Dude, it took you long enough!’_

Grif gave a mental snort. _‘Please. Like I could help it.’_

_‘I know. But I thought…’_

_‘It might not happen. I know.’_

_‘Which doesn’t make any sense, right? I mean, I have Lopez’s serial code imprinted on my skin. Don’t know why I was worried I wouldn’t get your soulmark.’_

_‘What else did you think orange stood for?’_

_‘I don’t know. A pumpkin? Which is basically you in food form.’_

_‘Oh, screw you.’_

Their souls clicked and Grif let go, moving to swat Tucker across the back of his head. “If I have to hear one more fat joke I’m going to kill somebody. Preferably Matthews.”

“Yeah right,” snorted Tucker. “You love that guy.”

“I do _not_.”

“You do so.”

“Shut up.” His annoyed glare cooling, he said knowingly, “Did your blow-up have anything to do with a certain asshole who skipped out on us?”

Tucker shot him an unimpressed look. “If you were digging into my soul as much as I was digging into yours, you know the answer.”

“I get why you’re angry with him. I am too. He could have at least said something. But at the same time, it’s Church.”

“I know, I know. But I can’t believe he just left us,” said Tucker with a resentful scowl, kicking at the metal leg of the table in frustration. “We at least deserved a ‘see you morons later’.”

Grif snorted. “That would have been appreciated.”

Running a hand through his dark dreadlocks, Tucker sent a sheepish glance at Grif. “I guess I’ve been projecting onto you guys a little bit.”

“No kidding,” drawled Grif.

“I’ll try to chill.”

“Good. We can only handle one stressed-out emotional wreck around here. If you feel like blowing up at somebody, just scream at Matthews. Always makes me feel better.”

“Nah, I think Palomo would fit the bill better,” said Tucker with a smirk.

“And if that doesn’t work, try to stop blocking Church’s emotions. The guy does feel bad about ditching us like that.”

Tucker hesitated for a moment. As stubborn as he was, keeping a constant emotional barrier against Church through their soul-link was draining and definitely not helping his mood. He was tired, tired of being distant from his soulmates. Taking a breath, he slowly let Church’s emotions flow through him, momentarily unsteady at the strong rush of relief at his surrender, followed by annoyance and, as Grif said, remorse.

At Grif’s smug smirk, Tucker rolled his eyes. “Since when did you turn into a therapist?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be a therapist when you’re insane,” deadpanned Grif. “Come on. Let’s get back to Caboose and Simmons.”

They started out of the mess hall and Tucker watched as Grif once more tucked his hands in the sleeves of his shirt and kept his chin snug in the collar. “You look stupid.”

“Well damn, it’s the only way to keep them hidden,” snapped Grif. “Simmons doesn’t sleep as it is. Might as well keep one thing off of his mind.”

Tucker flinched. “Guess I’m not making it easier.”

“Nope.”

Entering the space, they came upon Simmons, dressed in a red sweater and black jeans, who was wrapped up in Caboose’s embrace on the floor. They both perked up when they entered and sprang to their feet. “Tucker,” began Simmons nervously.

Tucker didn’t give him a chance to speak further, striding across the room and setting his hand over where he knew his soulmark rested beneath fabric. Simmons stilled for a moment before sagging with relief. He lifted his hand and set it against Tucker’s side, and for a brief moment they took comfort in their soul-bond.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered when Tucker pulled away. He knew it didn’t really have to be said, but he felt like he needed to.

“Me too,” said Tucker sincerely. “I know you have these rules for a reason. I’ll try to follow them.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not be a hard ass.”

Tucker snickered. “Yeah, let’s try to keep our vows realistic.”

Simmons shot Tucker a flat look. “Very funny. I see you finally stopped giving Church the cold shoulder.”

Tucker wrinkled his nose, even as he felt Church’s affection and returned it. “You’re my dudes and all, but being linked up with you twenty-four/seven can be really annoying.”

“Yay! We are not fighting anymore!” said Caboose cheerfully.

“Nope. And guess what?” When Caboose stared at him expectantly, Tucker jerked off his shirt, revealing the new orange mark on his shoulder.

“It was time!” said Caboose in delight. “Now we all have matching marks!”

He swept the three up in his arms, swinging them around the room. “Caboose, we talked about this!” rasped Simmons, Caboose’s arm digging into his ribcage.

“Almost,” spoke Tucker, too used to Caboose’s bone-crushing hugs to be bothered by the affect on his lungs. He had one lone spot left to fill and he knew exactly who it belonged to. “Carolina better get her butt back here. I need to kick Church’s ass and I need her soulmark.”

“You can’t kick an A.I.’s ass, Tucker,” said Grif, trying to loosen Caboose’s hold as he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe not, but I’ll sure as hell try.”


	10. Washington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of my self-indulgence mush ahead.

The training room was quiet, save for Washington’s breathing and the rhythmic thumps as his fists collided with the faded green punching bag. Sweat dripped down his face and stung his eyes, but he didn’t deter from his punching pattern. His motions were mechanical as his mind wandered, focussed on their unideal situation.

Sleep didn’t come naturally to him, not anymore. Though the nightmares weren’t nearly as bad, they still occurred. Being trapped on a planet currently under siege by the deadliest mercs in the galaxy didn’t help matters. He couldn’t stop seeing Tucker bleeding from Felix’s stab wound. He couldn’t stop replaying the gut-wrenching moment they had been separated in the canyon, Felix scuttling Grif, Tucker, Caboose and Simmons away. Seeing Sarge on the ground, motionless. Lopez’s head being blown off. Donut knocked unconscious.

The panic tightening around his throat was irrational. They were all alive and safe in Armonia. They found Doc. They were together again. He was going to do everything he had to to keep it that way. He couldn’t lose them, any of them. He wasn’t losing another family.

His movements became more erratic as his emotions overtook him. He abruptly stopped, breathing hard, watching the bag swing in front of him. His fists ached and he shook out the joints. He focussed on keeping his emotions from leaking into his soul-links. He didn’t want to disturb the others, who deserved a good night’s sleep.

“Dude. What the hell are you doing?”

Jerking in surprise, Washington whirled around to see Grif standing in the entry. A bag of cashews was in his hand and he regarded the ex-Freelancer in bemusement. Realizing that he was waiting for an answer, Washington said, “Training. And what did I tell you about midnight snacks? We need to maintain our rations.”

“Technically it’s two in the morning, so it’s not midnight,” countered Grif, munching loudly. “Also,” he said through the food, “there are like a thousand bags of these things.”

“That’s not an excuse,” said Washington sharply. “There are set meal times for a reason. You can’t break into the kitchen whenever you want.”

“Then they shouldn’t make it so easy,” said Grif with a snicker.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Washington’s eyes narrowed. “We need to kick this little habit of yours.”

“It’s food, Wash. It’s a need, not a habit.”

“Not at two in the morning!”

“I couldn’t sleep!” snapped Grif. “Sue me, I eat when I’m stressed, when I’m tired, when I’m happy. I’m an eater, okay?”

“Then maybe we need something that’ll help you sleep.”

Missing the ominous tone in Washington’s voice, Grif asked obliviously, “What, like warm milk? That doesn’t work. It just makes me want cookies.”

“You’ve skipped quite a bit of training since we’ve all gathered here. I think now is the perfect time to make it up.”

Grif’s eyes widened in horror. “You know what, I’m feeling tired already.”

“Get your ass over here.”

Flinching at the hard, commanding tone, Grif silently cursed himself. He shoved the remainder of the cashews into his mouth before tossing the bag into the trash can by the door. He shuffled over to Wash and asked warily, “What do you want? Laps? Squats? Push-ups? How about none of them?”

“None of them does sound good,” said Washington. “We are going to spar.”

Grif’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? You just spent who-knows-how-long beating up a punching bag!”

“I’ll go easy on you,” said Wash, giving his hand a dismissive wave. “Relax. Just follow your instincts.”

Stomach jumping with nerves, Grif got into a fighting stance. He kept his eyes locked on Wash, waiting for him to act first. After a moment of being still Wash suddenly moved in for a right hook. Grif dodged the punch, ducking to the side.

Wash regarded him, features impressed. “Nice move.”

“Thanks.”

To Washington’s surprise, Grif was hard to hit. He didn’t attempt to strike back. He understood that the chances of him landing a strike against Wash were slim to none. But he knew where his strength lied. He was steady on his feet and dodged the punches thrown at him. Five minutes passed and Grif started to pant from the brief exertion. As he reared back to avoid a straight punch to his face, he stumbled backwards. Seizing this opportunity Washington stepped forwards, slamming his fist into Grif’s stomach.

The wind was knocked out of him, but what caused Grif to properly lose his breath for a moment was the severe exhaustion that suddenly surged through him. Fear and determination twisted together, weighing heavy in his soul. He could smell pumpkin pie and cinnamon. Grif reached out and pressed his palm against Washington’s chest.

Washington’s fist unfurled until it was pressing flat against Grif’s stomach. He trembled from the strength of Grif’s happiness and affection that charged through him. He tried to focus on the warmth, but his worries consumed him. Grif could feel his internal struggle, the desperate desire to keep everyone together safe and protected. Grif was important, the others were important, Washington couldn’t lose them.

_‘You won’t,’_ soothed Grif.

_‘How do you know?’_ demanded Wash.

_‘Because somehow we always pull through. It’s not just up to you to protect us, Wash. We’re in this together.’_

Grif’s love flowed through Washington and he closed his eyes, letting it smooth over him. The power of it caused his muscles to sag, joy to well within him. He didn’t think it was an emotion he’d ever be able to feel again, let alone have someone feel it for him.

Once their souls finished connecting Grif released Washington, collapsing to the floor with an exhausted sigh. Washington sank beside him, running his fingers through his blonde hair. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Probably not the best way to get a soulmark.”

“You kidding? I got Donut’s after waking up from organ transplant surgery,” said Grif with a laugh.

Washington stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh. Wait. Is that how Simmons…?”

“Became a cyborg? Yup.” Gaining a more serious tone, he said, “I’m sorry about North and York.”

Wash managed a weak smile. The purple and gold handprints on his body were charred, the colours just barely peeking through the black. “I wish I could have saved them.”

“I know. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I did a lot of terrible things,” muttered Wash, eyes darkening. “I was blind.”

“I don’t think you were the only one,” said Grif lightly. “You were told lies and you didn’t have any reason to think they were anything other than the truth. Is it why you can’t sleep?”

“Partly,” said Wash, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Grif got to his feet, pulling Wash up with him. “Living in the past isn’t going to help you. You did some screwed up things. But we forgive you. You’re a good guy, Wash.”

“Thank you,” said Wash sincerely. He didn’t quite believe it, not yet, but he knew one day he would. Their love would be more than enough to help him heal. “So,” he continued with a mischievous smirk, “ready to continue sparring?”

“Hell no,” said Grif, grabbing Wash by the wrist. “I’m tired. You’re practically dead on your feet. Don’t know how you manage not to look like a zombie when you feel like one.”

“Years of practice,” quipped Wash.

He let Grif drag him out of the training room. Though he doubted he would sleep it wouldn’t hurt to at least lie down. Maybe he would get some semblance of rest.

They arrived in the barracks and stopped in front of the room Wash shared with Tucker and Caboose. Wash opened his mouth, ready to say goodbye to Grif, but the Red solider slid open the door and walked in.

“What are you doing?” whispered Wash in bewilderment.

Grif ignored him. He approached Caboose’s sleeping form and jabbed him several times. “Caboose, wake up,” he demanded.

Caboose’s snoring abruptly cut out as his eyes fluttered open. “Did I miss breakfast?” he asked groggily.

“No. Wash can’t sleep. It’s Cuddle Time.”

It took everything Grif had not to flinch as he uttered the words aloud. Ever since their soulmarks started to appear, Caboose insisted on having what he called Cuddle Time. It was basically an activity they all did together, be it movie night or poker, and the amount of cuddling that occurred Grif preferred not to say. Caboose was forbidden to speak of Cuddle Time to the general public and Grif hated the name. He did have a reputation to uphold.

It was as if he spoke the magic words. Caboose sat up, his dark curls falling over his forehead as he blinked rapidly. “But Cuddle Time is not until Thursday,” he said in confusion. “Wait. Is it Thursday?”

“No.” Grif rolled his eyes. “Wash needs extra Cuddle Time.”

“I’m fine—” began Wash, still not entirely comfortable with the open affection expressed by the Reds and Blues when they were alone. But Grif moved to shove him towards Caboose, who locked him into a hug like a steel trap.

“Cuddle Time always makes me sleepy,” said Caboose happily.

Wash tried to protest, but Caboose set his hand over his soulmark and he felt himself ease into the cot. Grif snickered at how quickly Wash relaxed, leaning back into Caboose’s snuggle. “Man, I wish I had a camera. No one would believe the big bad freelancer likes to cuddle.”

“Screw you,” said Wash tiredly, already feeling his eyes sag shut as Caboose’s warmth and affection washed over him.

“What the hell are you morons doing?” asked Tucker, peeking over the side of his bunk groggily.

“It’s Cuddle Time,” said Grif.

“It’s Game Night,” said Tucker sharply, his fatigue not enough to halt the automatic response.

“No, it’s Cuddle Time,” said Caboose firmly. “Because we cuddle.”

Wash laughed softly as Tucker grumbled choice words under his breath. Jerking his chin, Grif said, “Wash can’t sleep.”

“What’s your other newsflash?” asked Tucker sarcastically. “Water is wet?”

But he dropped down from the top bunk and made his way over to Caboose and Washington. Caboose let out a happy hum, shifting over slightly to let Tucker lay behind him.

Satisfied, Grif started to leave, but was prevented by Caboose grabbing his arm. He let out a quiet yelp as Caboose yanked him beside Wash. Grif grunted as his head collided with the metal wall, his legs hanging awkwardly over the edge of the bed.

“What was that for?” he complained.

“You can’t sleep either,” said Caboose, feeling Grif’s stress curl through him.

“I’m fine.”

Wash looped an arm over to rest his hand against his soulmark on Grif’s stomach. “Shut up,” he said with a yawn.

Soul-bounds with more than two people were strange, in that even though Grif didn’t have his hand on his soulmark on Caboose or Tucker, he could still feel their emotions, as they flowed through Washington and to him. It was emotionally draining and Grif could already feel himself sink into the pillow. He rolled over slightly, settling his palm over his soulmark on Washington’s chest.

His energy rapidly depleting, Grif resorted to communicating through the soul-realm. _‘This is going to give someone the wrong picture if they walk in.’_

_‘They will see we are Best Friends,’_ answered Caboose sleepily.

_‘I guarantee that they won’t,’_ returned Tucker.

It was difficult to speak when soul-bonding with several people at once, given the intensity of their emotions. But despite this Wash managed to say, “Thank you,” his forehead falling to rest against Grif’s shoulder as he finally fell asleep.

Grif smiled at the surge of gratitude and love that flowed through him. _‘You’re welcome, dork.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that the Red vs Blue crew cuddle gives me life.


	11. Carolina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features mild violence and injury. Nothing graphic, though.

The convoy of jeeps traversed steadily down the dirt path, thick tires crunching rocks and twigs into pieces. Grif drove the lead jeep with Carolina stationed at the gun mount. There were five other vehicles trailing behind them, carrying crates of goods looted from an abandoned mall. Supply runs were crucial missions, but also among the most dangerous. There weren’t many places left on Chorus to retrieve life necessities.

They were currently travelling through a forest, which meant they were in the home stretch of their journey. Thick trees loomed on either side of them, their leaves clustered together and making it nearly impossible to see through the foliage.

“We should have taken fewer cars,” muttered Carolina, her eyes continuously scanning their surroundings.

“We need these supplies, Carolina,” said Church, flickering above the ex-Freelancer’s shoulder. “What can you bring back with two jeeps?”

“A decent amount of potato chips,” voiced Grif, shooting a glance backwards.

Church let out a snort. “Because potato chips are so helpful during a war.”

“Hey, it would help me out.”

“Eyes front,” said Carolina sharply.

“It’s Church’s fault. He’s distracting me,” defended Grif, returning his attention to the road.

“Fair point. Epsilon, I think you should focus on monitoring the area.”

“I can monitor the area just fine from out here,” returned Church.

Ten minutes passed in unnerving silence. The branches creaked above them and the wind whistled eerily. Grif felt shivers run down his spine and he asked, “Can we keep talking or something? I’m seriously creeped out right now.”

“Talk about what?” asked Carolina with a slight laugh. “The weather?”

“Sure. I’ll start. It’s damn cold. Why is it cold? It was pretty nice when we were trapped in that canyon.”

“You’re probably still not used to seasons,” said Church with a snicker. “Those years in Blood Gulch messed you up.”

“Of course they did. They didn’t mess you up?”

“You can’t mess up what’s already screwed.”

“True that. Carolina, what messed you up?”

“The time I met you guys,” she deadpanned.

“That’ll do it,” agreed Grif.

Church’s laughter halted as quickly as it had begun. Tensing, he said seriously, “We’ve got company.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” said Grif in dismay. “This isn’t the kind of crap I wanted to talk about.”

“Jokes later,” said Carolina curtly. “How many?”

“I track three foreign vehicles trailing us. They’re approaching fast.”

“Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know, they just popped onto my radar. They haven’t been following us long, I can tell you that.”

“What do we do?” asked Grif, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Can we outrun them?” asked Carolina.

“With five jeeps? No. But we do have the numbers to fight them.”

“Then I guess it’s on.” Activating her radio, Carolina broadcasted to the other vehicles, “Heads up, soldiers. The enemy is approaching.” She waited a beat to process the data Church was transmitting to her. “They’ll be upon us in ten minutes. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

She relayed her plan and everybody got into formation. They clustered their jeeps on the narrow dirt road, creating a barrier. Carolina summoned a solider from another jeep to man their gun.

Grif cocked his rifle, heart thudding in his chest. “I just wanted potato chips.”

He, Carolina and the other soldiers stood in front of the jeeps, weapons at the ready. Clutching her grenade in her fist, Carolina said tightly, “How much longer Epsilon?”

“One minute. Counting down. Get ready to fire.”

“On my mark, people!”

Grif adjusted his stance, raised his arm slightly, and waited. The roar of the approaching vehicles rapidly got louder.

_“Now!”_

The first enemy swung around the corner just as they launched their grenades simultaneously. There was a great explosion that tossed the vehicle into the air, the backlash nearly knocking them to the ground. The car sailed into the trees, uprooting massive trunks with an almighty crunch. The two occupants of the vehicle struggled to remove themselves but were immediately shot down by Grif.

A spray of bullets went into the rising dirt cloud. The jeeps charged through, the bullets ricocheting off of the sides and windows. They showed no signs of slowing down and Carolina barked, _“Out of the way!”_

The soldiers frantically dove from their perches as the two jeeps slammed through the make-shift barrier. Four pirates immediate jumped out, gunfire and lasers echoing in the air. Grif hunkered down behind an upturned jeep and started firing.

“Carolina, we’ve got more incoming!” called Church.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” cried Grif.

“Hold your positions people!” hollered Carolina. “Church, where are they?”

“Two minutes out.”

“Get me there as fast you can. We’re taking them out before they can block us in.”

“There’s six more jeeps.”

“Then I guess you better have a pretty accurate path to get me through them.” Carolina did a quick scan of the battle. Halter and Gregory were on the ground, one bleeding from his leg and the other his arm. Rolland was assisting them. Grif, Johnstone and the other soldiers were keeping the four pirates at bay, who were proving tricky to eliminate.

“Grif, can you take command for a few minutes?”

“If I have to,” called back Grif, ducking to avoid a laser blast.

Church activated the suit’s speed enhancement and Carolina took off in a cyan blur. In the seconds it took to charge down the dirt path Church made his calculations, statistics and numbers racing through his mind. When he settled on a strategy that had the best possible results, he relayed the data to Carolina.

“Think you can follow this route without messing it up?” asked Church.

“So long as you didn’t make any mistakes.”

“Pfft. Like I ever make mistakes.”

The reinforcements rounded the corner exactly as Church said it would. Carolina dove to the left as the gunman started to twist his gun, which was aimed to the right. She attached a grenade to the first jeep and rolled to avoid an avalanche of gunfire from the second. As she slid to her feet she tossed a grenade into the middle of the path. Church activated the suit’s dome shield to guard her from debris as she raced forwards through the flames.

Two jeeps screeched to a halt to avoid slamming into the destroyed vehicle. Carolina launched herself over the warped metal and dropped two more grenades into the idle cars. The pirates scrambled to get out, but a few bullets from Carolina’s gun forced them to stay in place as the grenades went off.

The final two vehicles had driven on the shoulder of the road in order to get past. Carolina whipped around and lobbed another pair of grenades. Church disactivated her suit enhancements as a final cloud of orange and black rose into the air with a deafening bang.

Carolina paused to gasp for breath, hunched over slightly. “Good job, Epsilon.”

There wasn’t an immediate response, which didn’t cause her much concern, for sometimes he needed a cool-down moment. But he suddenly spasmed to life over her shoulder, his transparent form flickering in and out, his bright orange soulmark visible.

“Grif!” Church cried in panic. “He’s down!”

Carolina was sprinting down the path before Church finished speaking. For the first time her super speed didn’t seem to carry her to her destination fast enough. When she returned to the area where they were ambushed, Carolina’s eyes locked onto Grif, who was lying still on the ground. His helmet rested on the dirt next to his head, sitting in a pool of blood.

“What happened?” barked Carolina.

“A bullet caught him in the neck,” Johnstone said frantically, trying to stem the blood flow. “He’s not responsive.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Yes. I don’t think it hit anything vital—the blood seems to be coming from the side.”

“Rolland, what’s the status on the jeeps?” the ex-Freelancer demanded, trying not to let the fear show in her voice.

Rolland popped his head up from where he was working frantically under the hood of one of the jeeps. “Only one remained unscathed. This one is the least damaged out of the rest. Give me three minutes.”

“You have one.”

Carolina knelt next to Grif, who’s face was pale. Church had jumped from her armour into his the second she had gotten near. “If you put on his helmet, I can lock his armour down prematurely,” he said curtly. “It’ll keep his blood pressure down and vitals stable until we can get him back to base.”

“What about blood loss?”

“The healing unit in sim trooper armour is crap, but I can give it an upgrade.”

“Do it.”

Carolina grabbed Grif’s helmet and slid it carefully over his head. For a few more seconds, the blood continued to trickle through the seal. It ceased once Church got the healing unit running at maximum power.

“I can’t hold this for long. You need to get him home ASAP.”

“Rolland! That jeep better be functioning!”

“Ready to go, ma’am!”

Carolina and Johnstone lifted Grif up and deposited him in the passenger’s seat. Carolina climbed behind the wheel, Johnstone stationing himself at the gun. “Halter, Gregory, get in Rolland’s car.”

Halter and Gregory, gingerly cradling their injuries, settled themselves in the last operating jeep. Carolina looked at the remaining soldiers and said, “Backup will be arriving shortly. There won’t be time for another ambush.”

“We’ll be fine,” promised Lincoln.

Carolina pressed her foot against the gas and the jeep began to roar down the road. “Hang on Grif,” she muttered. “You’re going to be fine.”

…

Hours later, Carolina sat in her room, her hands going through the motions of cleaning her gun but her eyes were distant. She replayed the image of Grif lying motionless on the ground, a loop that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.

She should have been there for him. She should have protected him.

Gritting her teeth against the rush of guilt that clawed within her, she dropped her empty gun on her mattress, hunching over to press her hands against her face. She took a few, deep breathes, trying to calm herself. She knew she couldn’t keep her emotions guarded against the others for long. They would come to investigate and the last thing they needed was more concern.

A knock sounded on her bedroom door and she straightened. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” answered Washington. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

The door slid open and Washington entered, his dirty blonde hair sticking up and the bags under his eyes seeming to be darker. Exhaustion seeped from him, underpinned with worry. “Hey. Everything okay?” When Carolina shot him a look, he flinched. “Right. Stupid question. It’s your turn to visit Grif.”

“Has everyone else had the chance?”

“Tucker and I are after you.”

“You guys go first,” said Carolina firmly. “You’ve known him longer.”

Studying Carolina intently, Washington said, “That may be true, but I doubt that’s the reason you’ve been avoiding the infirmary.”

“I haven’t—”

“The second Grif was in Dr. Grey’s capable hands, you took off like a bat out of hell. Plus the fact that you’re blocking off your emotions is a key indicator that something is wrong.”

Carolina let out a sigh, standing up and walking aimlessly around her room, carting her fingers through her long red hair. “Life was a lot easier when I wasn’t constantly soul-linked with people.”

“Was it better?”

“Hell no.”

Sharing that sentiment in spades, he asked gently, “What’s wrong, Carolina?”

“It’s my fault,” she said bitterly. “I left him.”

“To do your job,” said Wash sternly. “To save him and the others from surely being killed. You didn’t put that bullet into his neck.”

“No. But I brought him along.”

Cracking a slight smile, Wash said, “Food was involved. I don’t think you could have persuaded him not to go.”

Carolina laughed softly at that. “I suppose.” Features falling again, she raised her fingers to brush against the cursive writing on her forearm. York’s gold had long since faded to a charred black. “I can’t lose anyone else, Wash. I haven’t even gotten his soulmark yet.”

“You will. Because he’s alive and he’ll be awake soon.”

Washington reached out and set his hand against the middle of her back, where he knew his soulmark rested beneath the light blue sweater. Her negative emotions faltered slightly as his solid determination and comfort flowed through her.

Carolina sagged against Wash, lifting her hand to rest overtop his left one. Her despair flowed through him, the grief and guilt not just from her failure to protect Grif, but from the mistakes of the past that loomed over her like a dark shadow. Washington was steady against her emotional turmoil.

_‘Nothing is your fault.’_

_‘It’s not yours, either.’_

_‘I wouldn’t say that. It was a conscious effort I made to shoot Donut.’_

The regret that stabbed through Carolina was deep. _‘Donut got over it pretty quickly,’_ she returned. _‘Pretty sure he doesn’t cuddle with people he doesn’t like.’_

_‘I don’t know if Donut is capable of dislike,’_ said Washington in amusement.

_‘It’s hard, Wash. If I had listened to York…maybe…’_

_‘Maybe. But maybe not. The Freelancers…we all screwed up. Some of us more than others. But things happen for a reason. Not even you can stand against fate and win. You have to move on, Carolina. Not completely. But far enough where you don’t blame yourself every minute of every day. We did a lot of things we aren’t proud of. Maybe we can’t atone for them. But we can be better.’_

_‘How do you do it?’_

_‘It’s not easy,’_ Wash admitted, and if Carolina searched further into his soul, she knew she would detect the same darkness that plagued her. _‘But the Reds and Blues…they don’t let you mope. They don’t leave you to self-destruct. So if you insist on blaming yourself, go ahead. But keeping yourself isolated is only going to result in Caboose barging in here to hug you until you’re happy again.’_

_‘That might take quite a bit of hugging.’_

But despite her words the stress and tension in her shoulders eased and she let out a long sigh. Feeling her negativity quiet down Washington stepped back. “Go see Grif.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

She gave Washington an affectionate punch to the shoulder before striding out of her room. She navigated through the twisting halls to the infirmary, where Grif had been laid up the past few hours. She was just outside of the medical unit when she ran into Tucker and Church, the latter hovering over the former’s shoulder.

“Hey!” exclaimed Tucker. “I was wondering what hole you crawled into.”

Carolina’s eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“Your hole.”

Tucker’s eyes then flashed with mischief, realizing the almost endless possibilities of sexual jokes he could make. Church cut him off before he could utter one word. “Don’t you dare. Or I’ll else I’ll help her tear your tongue out.”

“You can’t do crap,” he snorted. “You’re a hologram.” An electric charge suddenly ran through his body, one that was not nearly as pleasant as the one he felt when soul-bonding with Lopez. He yelped in pain. “Ouch! What the hell, man?”

“Can’t do crap, huh?” said Church smugly.

“Ugh, get out of my armour!”

“You off to see Grif?” asked Church, ignoring Tucker and directing his attention back to Carolina. “The answer better be yes.”

“I am. But I heard Tucker hasn’t, so you can—”

“Shut up,” interjected Tucker. “This is the first time since you dropped him off you’ve gotten anywhere close to him. You’re not chickening out now.”

Bristling, Carolina snapped, “I’m not chickening out. You’ve known him longer. You deserve to see him before I do.”

“Is she always this stubborn?” asked Tucker in annoyance.

“Yes. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“You are such hypocrites!” said Carolina in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we were talking to you,” said Tucker snidely.

It was by the grace of Church’s heightened observation that allowed Tucker to duck the punch. He immediately sprinted down the corridor, both of them cackling as they went. They didn’t look back to see the smile split across her face.

She entered the infirmary and went to Grif’s bedside. He had thick bandages wrapped around his neck. His face was still as he slept, chest rising and falling. His heart monitor beeped steadily, Carolina tracking the lines with her eyes.

He looked much better than when she had last seen him. She leaned forwards, studying his face. This was one of the few chances she got to see him without his helmet. Reuniting in the middle of a brutal civil war didn’t leave too much time for reconnection.

“Your breath smells like strawberries. You better have brought me strawberries.”

Carolina reeled back with a startled yip. A small grin worked its way across Grif’s lips as he slowly peeled his eyes open. “Morning, gorgeous,” he quipped.

“You ass!” said Carolina, the joy rushing within her overriding indigence. “How long have you been awake?”

“Literally minutes. I saw you come in.”

“I’m going to get Dr. Grey. She should check you over.”

“I’m fine.”

Grif went unheard and Carolina retrieved the resident doctor. Dr. Grey performed a thorough check of his injury and vitals. Satisfied that his condition was stable and his recovery would be nothing but uphill, Dr. Grey ordered Grif to be bedridden in the hospital for one more day before he could be released.

Grif pulled a face as she went to check on her other patients. “Thanks, Carolina. I could have been out of here.”

“Until she wrangled you back,” returned Carolina. She pulled a plastic chair right up to Grif’s bedside and settled into it. “How are you feeling?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

His voice was hoarse but he didn’t seem to have trouble speaking. Carolina still wasn’t convinced. “Are you in any pain?”

“Carolina. I’ve been run over by a tank. I’ve been shot by a tank,” emphasized Grif. “I have been through worse. I’m also pumped full of painkillers. I don’t think it’s possible to feel pain right now. Where are the others?”

Carolina sprang to her feet. “I’ll go get them for you.”

“Whoa,” said Grif, surprised by her quick reaction. “There’s not a hurry or anything. I was just wondering.”

“They’ll probably want to see you.”

“They know I’m awake. They can feel it.”

They could. Delight and relief were coursing through Carolina, mingling with her own emotions. It was difficult to tell them apart—she was still getting used to the permanent soul-links. She slowly sat back down, Grif watching her intently.

“Any particular reason you were about to take off?”

“They should be here,” muttered Carolina, running her fingers through her hair as her stress began to mount. “Tucker hasn’t even gotten the chance to see you yet.”

Grif stared at her for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. “You’re having an emotional crisis, aren’t you?”

“No!” said Carolina immediately. “Of course not.”

“Bull,” said Grif bluntly. “Wash has had enough of them. I know what they look like. It’s not your fault I got shot, Carolina.”

 “I should have been there for you,” she said tightly.

“You were. You got me here.”

“I didn’t do enough to protect you. I need to be better. I could have lost you. I—”

Her frantic words were cut off when Grif abruptly reached out and grabbed her elbow. Carolina’s breath caught in her throat as her soul surged, tangling with Grif’s. A rush of fond exasperation curled through her. It was the trust that caused her to tremble, the full faith he had in her and her abilities to keep him and the others safe.

Her hand wrapped overtop the bandages around his neck. Grif met her despair with affection, smoothing over the rough edges of the emotion that rose within him. He could smell pine needles and rain-soaked earth. Slowly the despair receded, replaced with delight and happiness. There were layers of her soul entrapped in darkness, of past grudges and ruined relationships that haunted Carolina. But as Grif returned to the surface, he saw a lot more of the light, light that was slowly burying the darkness. She loved them and she never thought she would feel love again.

_‘You know you’re one of us, right? No matter what you’ve done.’_

_‘I treated you horribly when we first met. How can you forgive so easily?’_

_‘I don’t know if you noticed, but we treat each other like crap. Have I mentioned that Sarge shot me with a tank? On purpose?’_

_‘I don’t deserve a second chance.’_

_‘You know what? That’s not for you to decide.’_

Their souls clicked and Carolina lifted her hand, a wide grin on her features and her eyes misty. Grif let out a sharp breath, his soul tingling and vibrating and feeling like it was going to travel right out of his body. For a moment it was hard to get in any air. The sensation passed and Grif collapsed against his blanket, bones sagging as the positive emotions of his soulmates continued to churn through him.

“It’s because you have all your soulmarks.”

“What?” asked Grif in puzzlement.

“You felt overwhelmed for a second, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tucker, Donut, Sarge and the rest—they had the same expression you did when they received my soulmark. Simmons could only figure it was because all of the soulmarks have filled in and your soul is responding to the completion.”

“Uh…that’s not a normal soulmate thing, right?” Grif furrowed his brow. “I don’t remember that happening in any textbook.”

“It isn’t’,” confirmed Carolina. “You guys have a habit of doing the impossible.”

“We,” corrected Grif.

“We,” repeated Carolina, smiling.

She was finally home.


	12. Whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the final chapter. I might write more stories in the Platonic Soulmate AU I've created, turn it into a series. We'll see.

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the infirmary. It seemed ludicrous to Grif that the thick, bullet-proof glass was draped with such decorative cloth, but he supposed there had to be some cheer existing in the middle of a war. He wasn’t usually awake to catch the first rays of sunlight. But he could make out the yellow splashing across the tiled floor in ripples through the thin fabric of his blankets.

The only reason he was up at such an early hour was because he had an unshakeable desire to contact his sister. He had tried to ignore it, at first, tossing and turning restlessly until he finally surrendered. Dr. Grey was bustling around her office, moving so quietly Grif wouldn’t have known she was there if he hadn’t already been awake when she walked in. He called out to her and she was by his side immediately, ready to inspect whatever pain ailed him.

She wasn’t at all irritated when he requested her to bring him a tablet so he could call his sister. While most of the soldiers were discouraged from making personal calls due to the strict rules on outside communication, Kimball and Doyle had a soft spot for the Reds and Blues.

Dr. Grey returned ten minutes later with a slim black device. She warned him to keep quiet before disappearing back into her office. To avoid disturbing the few slumbering patients, Grif yanked the blankets over his head and hooked it to the metal bed post, creating a blanket fort.

Though it was morning on Chorus it was approaching afternoon where Kai was, though it didn’t really make a difference in the never-changing environment of Blood Gulch. “Yo bro!” she greeted enthusiastically, answering on the first ring of the video call. “Wassup?”

“Not much. Currently lying in the hospital wing after being shot in the neck.”

Not fazed in the slightest by this revelation, Kaikaiana said in awe, “Cool! Do you have a sweet scar?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Grey won’t let me take off the bandages. But I do have Carolina’s soulmark.”

He recounted the story for her and she listened with rapt attention. An envious glint shone in her eyes. “Lucky.”

Grif felt her longing and loneliness flow through their soul-link and he frowned. “Hey, don’t be like that. You’ll get Wash and Carolina’s soulmarks before you know it.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said with a raised brow. “You guys are taking forever to win this war.”

“Oh, please,” said Grif with a scoff. “I’d like to see you do better.”

“You’re on. I’ll be on the next plane.”

Though they had had this conversation several times, it was difficult to tell whether or not she was joking. Grif took the safe route by saying sharply, “Don’t even think about it. The second your ship comes into Chorus’ atmosphere Felix and Locus will have it shot down. If you happen to survive it and they figure out who you are…”

He didn’t continue, as imagining what the two mercenaries would do to Kai if they ever got a hold of her was too unpleasant to contemplate. Sensing she had agitated him, which she usually took joy in, Kai felt sheepish.

“I know, I know. It just sucks. You left me here all alone.”

Flinching at that, for Kai still harboured genuine hurt for being left behind, Grif could only shrug. “I’m sorry, Kai, but you know there wasn’t anything we could do. Command gave us orders and…well, I’m pretty sure the consequences of disobeying Command are pretty rough.”

“You could have at least told me where you were going,” said Kai with a huff.

“I did,” said Grif. “I told you we were going to Rat’s Nest.”

Kai blinked at him, the corners of her lips turning down slightly. “Ooh. That’s a place? I thought you were making fun of my hair.”

“That explains why you punched me,” muttered Grif, the memory of Kai unexpectedly decking him in the face bringing back a phantom pain.

“Lemme see.”

Kai had a tendency to jump rapidly between subjects in a conversation. Grif paused to mentally backtrack before coming upon what she might be referring to. “What, Carolina’s soulmark?”

“Duh.”

Grif lifted the edge of his blanket, careful not to unhook it, and peeked out. Some patients were awake while others slept on. Dr. Grey would be out soon to make her rounds, but Grif doubted she would check on him. She had already given him a clean bill of health—the extra twenty-four hours of hospital stay was a precaution more than anything else.

“Fine,” he said, letting the blanket fall back into place. “But if Dr. Grey catches me, I’m blaming it on you.”

He rested the tablet against his knees and picked at the white bandages wrapped around his neck. Kai watched with eager eyes as he peeled it slowly off of his skin, eventually revealing the cyan handprint curled around his neck.

“How did it feel?” she asked.

“Nice try,” said Grif with a smirk. “You’re going to have find that one out for yourself.”

Kai flashed him a rude gesture that caused him to break into laughter. The blanket was suddenly ripped away and Grif’s laughter turned into a startled scream, instinctively flinging the tablet at the figure who had intruded upon his space.

Tucker grunted and stumbled backwards as the tablet slammed into his chest before clattering to the floor. “Ouch! What the hell, man?”

Dr. Grey strode into the infirmary, radiating displeasure. “What did I just say?” she asked frostily.

“We were quiet as a mouse with socks on!” protested Sarge. “He’s the one jumpin’ like a jackrabbit!”

Dr. Grey’s eyes zeroed in on Grif, specifically the exposed wound on his neck. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

Recoiling at the dangerous tone, Grif said meekly, “It’s not my fault. My sister wanted to see it.”

Clicking his tongue, Dr. Grey grabbed fresh bandages and rewrapped the wound, using a bit more force than necessary. When she was finished, she regarded the observing group and said, “Like I said, you are welcome to stay, but you must. Be. Quiet.”

“Yes ma’am!” they chorused.

Lips forming a fond smile behind her helmet, Dr. Grey made an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture before starting her work for the day. His heartbeat returning to normal, Grif gave Tucker’s stomach a shove. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“What’s wrong with you?” returned Tucker with a laugh. “Irritated that I interrupted private time?”

“You’re disgusting. How did you convince Dr. Grey to let you all in here?”

“She is a nice lady,” replied Caboose.

“She is,” agreed Simmons. “And soulmates have priority visiting.”

“Yeah, but there’s also a cap at three visitors at a time,” said Grif. “Isn’t that why you came to see me in pairs yesterday?”

“Yeah, but only because we weren’t sure if she’d let all of us in at once while you were recovering,” said Donut, easing himself into the chair by Grif’s bed. “Once you were better, she said we could all see you when visiting hours were open!”

“Turns out she’s never had a patient with eleven soulmates before,” said Doc in amusement.

Kai was an absence they did not miss, especially for Washington and Carolina, who were astutely aware of the unfilled yellow mark on their bodies. Remembering that he had been mid-conversation with Kai before Tucker unintentionally scared him, Grif cursed.

“Kai—damn it, Tucker.”

Washington bent down and retrieved the tablet. “Nice reflexes, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Grif, accepting the device.

“If only you moved that fast everyday,” said Sarge with a sneer.

“Oh, shut up.” The tablet began to trill and it was Grif’s turn to answer on the first ring. “Sorry Kai. Tucker’s an asshole.”

He flipped the tablet around so she got a clear picture of their soulmates huddling near his cot. Brown eyes sparkling, Kai said cheerfully, “My babes! What’s up?”

“Trying and failing to keep your brother out of trouble,” replied Church, flickering over Caboose’s shoulder.

“Aw, that’s nothing,” said Kai dismissively. “We’ve been in worse scrapes when we were kids.”

“I don’t recall ever getting shot when I was a kid,” said Grif flatly.

“No, but you did get run over by a motorcycle when you gave that dude the finger.”

“Oh.” Grif’s brow furrowed. “I don’t really remember that.”

“You hit your head pretty hard. I had to take you to the hospital on the back of my bike. You left a trail of blood the entire way!” When the others gaped at them, Kai asked defensively, “What?”

“I know you guys had a wild childhood,” said Simmons in disbelief, “but seriously. How are you still alive?”

“Not a clue, dude,” said Grif.

**“I’m amazed the base is still standing,”** said Lopez flatly.

“Of course the base is still standing,” said Kai with a huff. She was the only one with the ability to fully understand Spanish, though she was awful at speaking it. “Well, one of them, anyway…”

“Wait, which one?” asked Church and Sarge in unison.

Apprehension crossing her features, Kai said hastily, “I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” demanded Church. “I swear, Sister, if you burned Blue Base to the ground—”

“I didn’t do anything,” interjected Kai. “One of the raves got a little out of hand, that’s all.”

**“You’re still doing those?”**

“Of course I am. A girl needs company! If I spend too much time alone, I’m going to go crazy.”

Kai tried to stay upbeat, but the sadness rose in her chest and settled like a heavy weight. She missed them and she knew they missed her.

“Don’t worry hon,” cooed Donut. “You’ll be here before you know it. Promise.”

“I know it’s hard. It’s hard for us too,” spoke Doc. “But we will reunite.”

“We definitely didn’t expect to be detoured for so long,” said Simmons regretfully. “We’ll make up for lost time.”

“Even if we have to soak this planet in the blood of our enemies, we’ll make sure this planet is safe for your arrival,” said Sarge gruffly.

“We will win this war,” said Tucker confidently. “You do have two more soulmarks to fill in, after all.”

“And you have two soulmates who can’t wait,” said Washington feelingly.

“Getting the chance to meet you face-to-face is part of what keeps me going,” said Carolina sincerely.

“What’s the other part?” asked Sarge with a smirk.

“Caboose,” deadpanned Carolina.

“Yay!” he cheered. “I’m her favourite!” Directing his attention back to Kai, he said earnestly, “We will have a party when you arrive!”

“I like parties,” said Kai, perking up. “Can there be alcohol and strippers?”

“Hell yeah,” said Tucker immediately.

“Hell no,” shot down Washington.

“Why are you such a cop?” asked Kai, disgruntled.

“I’m not a cop,” said Washington in exasperation.

“You sure act like one.”

“Sue me, I like order. Raves are the exact opposite of order.”

“They’re not that bad,” said Kai dismissively. “Sure, someone got a bit wild with the fireworks and set Red Base on fire—”

Sarge’s vicious swear caused Kai to cut herself off, a stricken expression on her face as she realized she accidentally spilled the beans. Simmons let out a horrified squawk while Donut lamented the loss of his perfectly decorated room. Lopez and Grif remained unaffected by this news, the latter rolling his eyes at yet another one of his sister’s antics.

“You careless useless tramp—” began Sarge furiously.

“It’s being rebuilt!” Kai said hastily. “Soon. I think. Uh, love you got to go!”

She hung up amongst Sarge’s rambling and Church’s hysterical laughter. Caboose gave a despaired Simmons an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I can help you paint when we get back!”

“That’s the last time we leave her alone,” grumbled Sarge.

“Oh well,” sighed Donut, resting his chin against his hand. “It’s always good to redecorate every once in a while.”

“Sucks to be you,” snickered Tucker.

At the scowl on Sarge’s weathered face, Grif smirked and said, “She apologized.”

“She’s real torn up about it,” he scoffed.

Indeed, Kai’s amusement hummed through their soul-links, remorse over the accidental destruction of Red Base non-existent. Grif settled back against his pillows, the grin spreading across his face as love, affection and ire rolled through him. The soulmarks on his body seemed brighter in the fluorescent lighting, standing out proudly against his skin.

Church could not stop laughing at Sarge’s misfortune and Dr. Grey, brimming with exasperation, kicked them all out. They bid Grif farewell, with the promise to see him later on in the evening, and departed quickly under Dr. Grey’s supervision.

Grif felt them, all of them, their emotions humming through him. It was the best sensation in the world, to have what no one else did. To be permanently linked with his eleven soulmates, to experience their negativity and positivity, and be so emotionally attached that it was sometimes difficult to bear.

He felt whole. He felt completed. And it had been worth every second of anxious, desperate, torturous waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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